


I Know This Game

by a_splash_of_stucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cheating, F/M, Pining, Plot Twists, Sad!Bucky, So much angst, bucky cheats, discussions of mental health, dubious consent at some point, loki also cheats, loki is an asshole, talk of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-12-22 12:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11967810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: "Love makes you blind, I realised, but I think when it comes to you, love also makes me numb to the pain. Or, perhaps more accurately, it increases my tolerance for it. You’ve hurt me, yes, more so than anyone ever has, but—I don’t hate you for it. I don’t think it’s possible for me to hate you. You’re a good person, Bucky. I know you are.”OrAn AU feat. much betrayal, much confusion and too many feels. You are not ready for this ride.





	1. You've been replaced

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Halsey's ['Eyes Closed'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9LhN6E01Mkc/).

##  **~ You’ve been replaced ~**

When you step into the elevator, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and let out a resigned sigh. It’s obvious that you’ve been crying. In fact, ‘crying’ is probably putting things nicely; it would be more accurate to say that you look like you’ve been dragged through hell and back. Your eyes are puffy, there are flecks of mascara on your cheeks, your red nose puts Rudolph to shame, and let’s not even get  _started_  on your hair. You fix yourself up as best as you can with the concealer and wet wipes you keep in your purse, but the elevator arrives at your floor before you can do much.

You’ve only been to Pepper’s office once before. A distant part of your brain marvels at how sharply contrasted this visit is to your last one. The emotions, the situation, the reason — everything is different, but ironically, none of this is reflected physically. The office itself remains unchanged. It’s walls are still tastefully decorated with gorgeous pieces of abstract art, and the furniture exudes business professionalism, without looking bland and boring. You stride over to her desk, wanting to get this visit over and done with as soon as possible.

Pepper is hunched over a Stark tablet, brow deeply furrowed in concentration. You rap sharply on the frosted glass door and her head whips up.

“Ah, Y/N,” Pepper says, setting her tablet aside and standing up to greet you. The smile she puts on seems a little forced around the edges. “Please, have a seat,” she urges, gesturing towards the chair in front of her desk. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?”

You shake your head as you sink into the — surprisingly comfortable — black swivel chair. Of course, this being Stark Industries and all, you expect Tony to settle for nothing less. “I’d rather just get this over with, Pepper,”, you say, your voice betraying how exhausted you really feel.

She nods curtly, immediately stepping into business mode. “Certainly, Y/N, Tony has…notified me of your intentions. I’ve drawn up the necessary paperwork, but I’d like to have a discussion with you, if that’s okay,”.

You nod your assent.  _This_  you can deal with. Briskness, order and streamlined efficiency. It’s a kind of stability that you crave after the mess of a day you’ve just had. Secretly, you’re thankful and a little awed that Pepper is able to remain so professional with you, despite the surprisingly close relationship the two of you have developed over the past couple of years.

“Sure Pepper, let’s talk,” you murmur, scooting your chair a little closer to the table.

Pepper laces her fingers together and rests her chin on top of them, looking at you with a completely neutral gaze. She clears her throat, “Well, the only thing I really have to ask is: are you sure? You’ve been such a wonderful asset to the team, that I’d hate to see you go. Obviously, I understand that working in such an environment given the…events that have happened would be difficult, to say the least, but—I just don’t want you to make any spur of the moment decisions that you might regret, here,”.

You hesitate before answering, wanting to give her your most truthful response. “I understand your concern, I really do,” you say slowly, “It’s been amazing working with the team. And, we both know…that at some point, it stopped becoming work and it just became life, right? But I—I’m hurt, Pepper. More than you can ever imagine,”. Unexpectedly, tears burn behind your eyelids and you roughly scrub the back of your hand across your eyes to brush them away. You take a shuddery breath, willing yourself to keep it together for a few minutes more.

“I can’t go back there, Pepper, I can’t. I—I don’t think I can face them,  _any_  of them, knowing what they did,” you say quietly.

She nods in sympathy. “Alright, Y/N, it seems like you’ve made your mind up. As per your contract, you’ll be given three months salary in advance, just to have something to tide you over whilst you find your footing again. I’ve written a letter of recommendation for you, as well,”. Pepper hesitates, chewing her bottom lip before continuing, “If — and I understand that this is a big if — you should ever,  _ever_  change your mind…I won’t hesitate to re-employ you. Perhaps not with the team, per se, but maybe within Stark industries itself?”

You smile gratefully, amazed that this woman has such an enormous capacity for generosity. “Thank you, Pepper. I’ll certainly keep that offer in mind,”. She nods brusquely in acknowledgement of your thanks. Then, she sets a pen and a stack of papers in front of you, the places requiring your signature marked with blue page flags. When you go to pick up the pen, you discover that your hand is trembling slightly.

After signing where you need to, you hand everything back to her. As she arranges the papers into an orderly pile at the edge of her desk, Pepper asks, “Do you have any idea what you’re going to do after this?”

You shrug, “I’d like to try and set up my own practice. What with my time serving in the military, plus my time with the team, I should think that I have enough experience for that,”.

“That’s wonderful, Y/N. I wish you all the best,”. There’s a note of wistful finality in her tone that you take as your cue to leave. The two of you stand, and Pepper walks you to the door.

“Thank you, Ms Potts, for all that you’ve done for me,”, you say sincerely, holding your hand out for her to shake.

Pepper smiles, “No. Thank you for all that you’ve done for  _us_. I wish we could’ve parted on better terms, but—,”.

You shake your head, indicating that you’d rather not discuss the situation, and she wisely chooses to drop the subject. “Well — and I  _am_  being serious here — if you ever need anything, any help whatsoever, my door is always open,”.

You’re overcome with a sudden burst of emotion, and, without thinking you wrap your arms around her in a brief hug. “Thank you, Pepper,”, you whisper fiercely.

You do your best to sob as silently as you can when you dash out of her office.

——————————  _Six Months Later_ ——————————

Nick Fury levels you with a wholly unamused look. Not for the first time, you’re quite impressed by how expressive he manages to be with only one good eye. “I recognise that you have given me advice on the issue, Dr Foster, but given that it’s some stupid-ass advice, I’ve elected to ignore it,” he says curtly.

You sigh inwardly, but school your face to remain a mask of calm.  _Two more minutes_ , you tell yourself,  _Just get through that and the weekend will be yours._

“Well, Nick, you won’t know it until you try it,” you say, as gently as possible so as to not aggravate him further. “Give meditation a go. I can recommend some teachers or sites, if you’d like, and we’ll discuss this issue further in our session next week, alright?”.

He grunts. It’s the closest you’re going to get to a yes, at this point, so you decide to not push any anymore.

“Is there anything else you’d like to ask or mention before we end?” you ask, rounding yet another session off in the way you always do.

Nick shakes his head. “Nah,” he drawls, already moving to get out of his chair.

“Okay then, I look forward to seeing you next week,”. You force your facial muscles to contort into a smile, despite the fact that it’s the last thing you can be bothered to do.

“You have a good weekend, doc,” he calls, as he saunters to the door, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “You sure look like you could use one,”.

You laugh wearily as he leaves the room. “I’ll take your advice, Mr Fury,”.

It’s blissful to finally be done with your consultations and sessions for the day. You take a moment to stretch out in your armchair, breathing a sigh of relief at the fact that you’ve made it through yet another gruelling week. You love your job, you really do; the trials are more than made up for when you see your patients making progress. But sometimes…

Sometimes you think you could do with a therapy session yourself.

You gather up the papers and folders spread out on the glass table in front of you, then make your way to your mahogany desk. Like the rest of your office, you try to keep it as neat and visually calming as possible (better for the patients, that way), which means that most of your papers are kept out of sight, filed away in one of the many sets of drawers lining your room. The notes you’ve made from your consultations today you place in the top-most drawer of your desk, so that they can get scanned, then transferred into your digital records.

A sharp knock on your door interrupts your organisational groove. Your secretary, Maria Hill, steps inside, looking as crisp as ever in her well-cut navy business suit. “That’s all for the day, Dr Foster, is there anything else you’d like me to do?” she asks. In one hand, she carries a steaming mug of tea, which she sets down on the floral coaster you keep on your desk. You give her a flicker of a smile as a show of thanks.

“No, it’s quite alright, Maria, I’ve just got some scanning to do, which I can handle when I come in for Mr Barton’s consultation tomorrow morning. If you’ve sent off those prescription orders as I requested earlier, then you’re free to go,”.

Maria nods in that brief, businesslike way of hers, then turns sharply on her heel to stride out of the room. “Oh, by the way,” she says, stopping with her hand on the door handle, “That Everhart woman called again. I gave her the same spiel about confidentiality and all, but she’s having none of it. Said she’d drop you an email,”.

You groan, pressing your fingers to your temples at the mention of that name. “Right,” you mutter, “Thanks for letting me know, Maria. I’ll handle her. Have a good evening,”.

After she leaves your office, you boot up your laptop and take a few sips of your tea. You huff angrily when you scan through your inbox and see that yes indeed, you’ve received an email from Christine Everhart. You’re half tempted to throw your laptop across the room in frustration. Why won’t she leave you alone? With a weary sigh, you begin to read it through.

_Dear Dr Foster,_

_I hope you’ve been receiving my previous messages. I’ve been attempting to make contact for several months now, wishing to get a statement from you concerning your time working with the Avengers. I was wondering when you’d be free to discuss this topic with me._

_I am well aware that, due to confidentiality and non-disclosure agreements, you are unable to talk about the information exchanged during your private sessions. This is not an issue. We — that is, myself and my superiors at WHiH World News — would simply like to get your side of the story, in terms of what it’s like living in a building filled with enhanced humans. In particular, we’d like to focus on your relationship with Sergeant James Barnes._

Your stomach does a sickening flip at the sight of his name. You read on, pushing past the feeing of nausea rising in your throat.

_The interview itself would hardly take any time, and I am even happy to do it over the phone — though obviously, in-person would always be preferable. Should you require it, we would be able to negotiate a sum of money, in exchange for your cooperation._

_If you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to contact me. Do let me know your preferred dates as soon as possible._

_Kind regards,_

_Christine Everhart_

You’re vision is tinged scarlet. When you look down at your hands, you find that your fingers are trembling with barely held-in rage. The audacity of that woman. How  _dare_  she think that she can just  _bribe_  you for information? What kind of person does she think you are? You’re fuming internally, and you half-expect there to be steam coming out of your ears. What kind of person must  _she_  be, to be willing to stoop so low in order to get what she wants. If she believes that she can just  _buy_ her way into your good books, you want absolutely nothing to do with her.

Besides, you’re not fooled by her words in the slightest. You’ve seen the articles she’s written about the team — the piece on Steve following the incidents in DC had been particularly cruel.

The more times your eyes skim over the email, the more infuriated you become and the more intensely the anger-fuelled fire burns inside you. You scoff at her choice of words; “when” you’d be free. You briefly wonder why on earth that woman thinks that you — a renowned psychiatrist — would have a spare minute in the day to talk to her, let alone actually  _want_  to do so. She’s assuming that you’re already in agreement, and that is something you simply cannot stand for.

Your ringtone blares, startling you out of your rage-filled downward spiral. A glance at the caller ID lifts your spirits immediately. You accept the call and put your phone on speaker, setting it down on the table as you slouch into your chair.

“Hey kiddo,” you say.

“Y/N!” Jane singsongs cheerily, “My long lost sister!”.

“Hey Janie,” you chuckle softly, a smile already creeping over your features. “You found the theory of everything, yet?”

“Haha,” she says, “Real funny. Haven’t heard you say that one before,”. You can practically see the eye roll that goes along with that sentence. “I just wanted to call to check up on you,”.

“Really? Aren’t I the older sister? Shouldn’t  _I_ be checking up on you?” you say dryly.

“You  _are_  a pretty shit older sister,” she concedes. “Actually, I had a real purpose for calling you,”.

“Oh, boy,” you mutter.

“Darcy and I were planning to take a trip to Bali this summer, but it’d be kinda boring with just the two of us. So, I was wondering if you — and maybe Wanda and Pegs — would want to come along too?”

Your heart sinks, “Jane, I’d love to—,”.

“But you’ve got patients to see, I know, I know, I figured you’d say that,” she sighs.

“Sorry,” you mumble, feeling truly upset for having rejected her suggestion. You’ve been dying for a vacation, but your practice was just picking up, and you hated having to miss sessions with your patients. “Maybe for Christmas we can do something?” you suggest.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jane grumbles, clearly upset with you.

“Aw Janie, don’t be like that!”

“Y/N, you need to look after yourself too, y’know?” she tells you, “You’ve barely had any time to yourself after—well,”. Wisely, she cuts herself off before finishing that thought, not wanting to bring up such a touchy topic.

You sigh. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course!” she exclaims.

You shift forward and bring your laptop closer to you. “So this reporter, Christine Everhart has been trying to get a statement out of me, ever since I stopped working for the Avengers—,”

“Everhart? Isn’t she that bitch from Vanity Fair?” she asks.

“That is she,” you affirm. “And bitch is an understatement. More like, cold-hearted snake,” you scoff. “Anyway, she just sent me this really,  _really_  pushy email, and it’s got me real pissed off,”. You read the aforementioned email out to Jane, who makes various sounds of outrage and discontent as she listens.

“Yeah, I guess cold-hearted bitch-snake is a good description,” she says, once you’re done.

You sigh heavily, suddenly feeling as if the weight of the world has come crashing down on your shoulders. “Sometimes, I wish I’d never said yes to Pepper that first time, you know?”.

“You don’t mean that,” Jane says softly.

“No, I guess I don’t,”.

A moment of silence passes, as Jane waits for you to elaborate. You think back to that time in your life, when things were still looking great for you. 

After the thwarting of Project Insight, the massive SHIELD data dump and the revelation of the Winter Soldier’s identity, Pepper Potts had invited you to act as private psychiatrist to the team. She’d come to you under Sam’s recommendation, who — being a counsellor at the VA at the time — had heard your name mentioned in many circles, and passed this information on to her.

You were surprised when Pepper approached you, specifically, out of everyone else in your field. You were absolutely  _floored_ when you realised that she wasn’t just interviewing you  _for_ the job, but in fact, telling you that you’d already gotten it.

At the time, you were working with the US military, helping to rehabilitate returning soldiers who had suffered particularly horrendous experiences during their deployment overseas. You’d seen it all — from POWs who’d experienced extensive torture at the hands of their captors, to rape victims and soldiers struggling to cope with the loss of one body part or another. Pepper believed that your extensive experience working with individuals fresh out of war made you the ideal person for the position.

When you first took on the job, your primary focus was helping Steve through his PTSD. You’d talked to Sam, and discovered just how mulish the Cap really was. It had been a tiring uphill struggle, as the lack of care given to Steve after his awakening — especially with regards to overcoming his grief, survivor’s guilt and PTSD — made it all the more difficult for you to jump in and help.

Steve had already become accustomed to coping on his own, and thus rejected your support. Several times. He had never been given the opportunity to put himself first, made to return to combat before he’d even recovered from the horrors he saw during the 40’s. For the longest time, Steve had no one to bleed on and consequently, developed this misconstrued belief that he  _didn’t_ bleed. That took a while to shake off, but once you broke through his psychological shield — stronger than any amount of vibranium could ever be — the two of you became the best of friends.

You ended up having regular sessions with the rest of the team, as well. Pepper would forever be grateful to you for helping Tony overcome his mental troubles; she’d told you this herself.

Of course, when Bucky showed up out of the blue some months after your employment, it fell to you to help him find some semblance of normalcy. You’d studied HYDRA’s files on him extensively, searching for ways to break his triggers. Initially, he’d been reluctant to accept your help, much to Steve’s dismay. But, when Bucky realised how much less invasive your methods would be, he’d been game to give things a go. Helping him establish a healthy relationship with his metal arm had been particularly challenging. He’d never go back to the man he was before the war, but at least he could begin to find peace with the person HYDRA had forced him to be.

You prided yourself on maintaining professional decor at all times, but the environment at the compound was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Things were so much more…intimate. You were in office hours nearly 24/7, available for a chat with anyone, at any time. You’d found the boundary separating your ‘work’ mode from your ‘personal’ mode becoming increasingly blurred as you started doing more things with Bucky as ‘friends’. Over the course of countless sessions spent together — some far less professional than others — you found yourself falling in love with him.

That would turn out to be the best thing to ever happen to you and the biggest regret of your life.

“Y/N? You still there? You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” Jane teases, pulling you out of your contemplative stupor.

You laugh tiredly. “My only remorse about the whole thing is the fact that I let my emotions get the best of me, Jane. If I had somehow managed to…keep a hold of them better, I don’t think I’d be in this position, you know?”

“You can’t know that for certain, Y/N,” she chastises, “Don’t beat yourself up about it,”.

“I’m not! Well, I’m trying not to, at least,” you amend, “Don’t get me wrong, Janie, working with the Avengers was hands-down, the best experience of my life. I loved them. I  _love_ them, still. I just—I wish it hadn’t ended the way it did, y’know?”

“You love them still?” Jane repeats quietly, “Even Bucky?”

You gnaw at your bottom lip. “Yeah. Even him. Not—not the way I used to, obviously, but still,” you shrug, even though she’s not there to see it, “Something’s there,”.

Jane makes a noise of interest, like she’s about to comment on that, before groaning loudly. “Okay, Y/N. Listen, I gotta go, Darcy’s calling, but if you—if you need to talk to someone, I’m here for you, okay?”

“Bye Janie,” you murmur.

“Bye,”.

The office is almost hauntingly silent without Jane’s voice crackling out of the speakers. You shut down your laptop, finish off your tea and clean up the last few bits of paper littering your desk. Just as you’re about to leave, your phone dings with an incoming text. It’s from your boyfriend, Loki.

_You wanna come over tonight? We can have dinner and chill._

You smile at the thought, knowing exactly what ‘chill’ means in his book.

_Sure. Be there in 20._

You tuck your phone into your purse, and bustle about, locking things up. After that conversation with your sister, thoughts of Bucky are front and centre in your mind like they haven’t been for a while. Honestly, you thought that after half a year, you’d got over the worst of it. Apparently not. Try as hard as you might, you can’t turn off the trickle of images crossing your mind; some you look upon with fondness, others you push away in disgust.

 _That’s enough of that now,_  you scold yourself mentally, as you step out onto the streets. You have a new boyfriend now, someone that shares your interests and cares for you. No matter how special things might have been between you and Bucky, and despite what you might have thought at the time, it’s pretty clear that whatever you had together wasn’t irreplaceable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	2. Thinking about you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you spend an evening with your boyfriend, but can’t stop thinking about your ex, especially when a few familiar faces pop up on screen.

##  **~ I’m thinking about you ~**

Loki greets you with a broad smile and a quick peck on the lips. “How was work?” he asks, taking your coat and hanging it on a hook by the door.

“The usual,” you say tiredly, your mind too preoccupied to elaborate further.

 

> _He don’t realise that I’m thinking about you  
>  _ _It’s nothing new, it’s nothing new_

He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Your mind — the traitor that it is — thinks back to when a pair of mismatched arms used to carry out this same gesture, how you’d rest your hand over the metal extremity and stroke it gently, silently telling him that you’d love him regardless of how abnormal he might be.

 _No_.

Loki noses the side of your head and presses a kiss to your temple. You remember giggling like a giddy teenager when a different set of pillowy-soft lips did the same thing, how his permanently-stubbled jaw would scratch at your skin.

 _Stop it_.

You try to draw your mind back to the present when Loki starts mouthing wetly behind your ear and down the side of your neck, but all you can focus on is the way  _he_ used to do this. How his low, gravelly voice would rumble in your ear and send shivers down your spine, the way he’d filthily grind his pelvis against your ass, how his hands — one cool, one warm — would skate over your hips.

_Cut it out._

“You seem a little stressed,” Loki murmurs, “Want me to make you dinner?”

You tip your head back and smile gratefully at him. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” he chuckles, chest vibrating a little with the sound. You just manage to avoid thinking about how a different barrel-chest would do the same. “Just don’t complain if my pasta tastes too salty, yeah?”, he jokes, releasing you from his grip and heading over to the kitchen.

You laugh, “I’m just gonna veg out on the couch for a bit, okay?”

Loki nods, “Go ahead. Put the TV on,”.

You kick off your shoes, pop open the button on your work trousers and sprawl out on his couch, groaning in relief as you sink into the cushions. As Loki bustles about in the kitchen, pulling pots and pans from the cupboard and ingredients out of the fridge, your mind can’t help but wander back to Bucky-related things.

You wonder if you jumped into the dating game too soon after your breakup with Bucky. You’d met Loki in a bar just three weeks after you left the compound. When he’d asked for your number and a few days later, took you out to dinner, you’d thought that nothing much would come out of it. Turns out, the Norwegian software engineer, with a completely stable family background and no history of any abuse whatsoever was exactly what you needed after your two years with the Avengers. There was nothing remotely ‘troubled’ about his personality, no triggers to always be mindful of, no need to constantly check your words around him. You’d always know where he is, and wouldn’t have to worry about him disappearing on a mission for days — weeks — at a time with no contact whatsoever.

 _No_.  _I’m not supposed to be thinking about that anymore_ , you sigh internally.

As you watch Loki pour tinned tomatoes into the pot, you realise how alike he and Bucky really are. Perhaps not in looks, directly — though Loki does enjoy keeping his black hair long and shaggy, the way Bucky did — but most certainly in mannerisms and behaviour. When he’s concentrating hard, he cocks his head to the side the same way Bucky used to. His smirk and lopsided grin are unnervingly similar to your ex. And, though his skin might be paler and his body built in a different way, when you’ve got your hands on him, you feel the same ripple of powerful, sinuous muscles.

Why have you not noticed any of this before? Well, maybe you did, but your grieving mind perhaps buried those thoughts.

In fact, the more you think about it, the more you begin to draw comparisons between your two most recent relationships. Everything from the way Loki leans casually against the counter, to the way he prefers scaldingly hot showers, to the way he needs to be constantly touching you whenever he’s close — all of it just reminds you of  _Bucky_.

 _So much for something different_ , you think ruefully. As alien as Loki may seem at surface glance, upon closer inspection, it’s painfully apparent that you’d dived headfirst into a relationship with someone who held too many similarities to your one true love. That’s not to say that your feelings for Loki aren’t genuine — in the five months you’ve been together, you’ve grown to really enjoy spending time with him — but you can’t help but wonder just  _how much_ of your affection towards him is due to the staggering amount of traits he shares with Bucky.

“D’you want a wine?” Loki calls, breaking you out of your deep self-reflection.

“Uh, yes please,” you reply, shaking your head to get rid of some of your lingering unease. This is not the first time you’ve caught yourself thinking about Bucky, when you’re supposed to be focused on your new relationship. None of this mental chastising is new to you, but you’re disappointed in yourself all the same. With a sigh, you pick up the remote and flick on the TV.

Some news channel comes on and you groan when you see three particularly familiar people dashing around on screen. It’s a clip of civilians being rushed out of a burning building — the ticker tape tells you that Bangkok is the location — with Iron Man, Captain America and the Falcon themselves darting in and amongst the fleeing crowd. Distantly, you wonder why Bucky isn’t with them. The program cuts to a shot of the three boys, looking grimy and a little worse for wear, hordes of reporters thrusting microphones into their faces.

“—The situation has been contained,” Steve is saying, using the authoritative ‘Cap voice’ he reserves for the media. “As this is an ongoing investigation, the Avengers are not at liberty to discuss this incident any further,”.

“All we can say, is that we have reason to believe that the bomb was planted by AIM, one of the last remaining sub-projects of HYDRA,” Sam interjects.

You tune out the rest of their words as your think back to the last time you spoke — or rather, had a shouting match — with the trio. You’re powerless to stop your mind from falling down this dark, dreary rabbit hole.

——————————

_Steve._

After seeing them together, that’s all you can think about. Bucky is his best friend, surely Steve’d be able to sort him out. 

 _He’ll know what to do_ , you tell yourself repeatedly. It’s the only assurance you have, the sole thing you can hold onto right now. It’s  _imperative_  that you see him, you feel like your life depends on it. Of all the people on the team, Steve’s the one you’ve known for longest and besides Bucky, the person you’re closest to. He  _has_ to know what to do. 

The all-consuming panic is creeping up your spine, the unsettling chill worming its way into your bones. Your legs feel leaden, and you can’t move fast enough; it’s like you’re trying to walk through water. You touch your cheek and your fingers come away wet — the result of tears streaming freely from your eyes. You suddenly understand why your vision is so blurry. Raw, wrecked sobs rip their way free of your throat, but it takes you a moment to even realise that it’s  _you_  making those noises. You can barely hear anything over the constant throb of your pulse in your ear.

It takes all your energy to stagger into the elevator.

“JARVIS?” you choke out.

“Yes, Dr Foster?”

“Is Steve at the compound?” you ask shakily.

“He and Mr Wilson are currently in the lab with sir. Shall I take you there?”

“Please,” you whisper, slumping against the wall as the elevator car begins to move, because your knees are about ready to give out on you.

The next few moments pass by in a haze of confusion. Dimly, you recall the elevator doors opening, then finding yourself blindly stumbling down a sleek hallway, one hand pressed to the wall for support. Your movements are uncoordinated, your legs uncooperative due to the fog of sorrow, fury and pain clouding your mind. It takes you a while to get to Tony’s lab. The three men are crowded around a table, intently studying something or other, and are startled when you burst into the room. One look at you — your ashen expression, your tear-stained cheeks, your quivering bottom lip — and Steve is by your side in an instant, his big hand at the small of your back, silently guiding you to a stool.

“Y/N?” he murmurs softly, crouching down in front of you, “What happened?”. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Tony and Sam hovering to the side, respectfully keeping their distance whilst staying close enough to hear your conversation.

“Bucky—h-he cheated on me,” you say thickly. The words feel like coals in your mouth.

Steve sucks in a sharp breath. “He wha—again?!”

You freeze, letting that single word sink in. In the silence, Steve realises what he said and immediately backtracks. “You—you saw them? After the mission? Together?” he asks, the words tripping over themselves in his haste to get them out.

A part of you — the part still pondering over that strange ‘again’ — wonders how he knows who Bucky was with. You force yourself to stiffly nod your head, still in shock and trying to process everything that you’ve seen.

“He promised me he wouldn’t,” Steve mutters, mostly to himself. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, so you almost don’t catch it.

You whip your head up and glare at him. A million questions are racing through your mind at the speed of light, but you force yourself to take a deep breath and ask the most important ones. “Steve,” you say quietly,fighting to keep your voice as steady and calm as possible, “What do you mean, ‘again’? What promise?”.

Steve pales at the barely-concealed outrage in your tone. “Nothing!” he blurts out, shying away from the fury raging in your gaze.

With a growl, you wipe your tears off your cheeks and look him dead in the eye. “Steven,” you whisper, letting every ounce of anger you’ve got drip into your tone, “Tell. Me. The truth,”.

“I—uh—he promised me that—he wouldn’t—,” Steve stutters, floundering helplessly under the intensity of your stare.

“Wouldn’t what?” you grit out, even though you  _know_ , with a sickening feeling in your stomach, what his answer will be. But, you need to hear it with your own ears — for as long as no one says it, you allow your heart to cling to its last shred of optimism. You allow yourself to hope that Bucky is still  _good,_ still who you think he is. Who you hope he is. Who you want him to be.  

Sam suddenly appears by Steve’s side, hands outstretched in a non-defensive manner. He steps between the two of you — you realise that at some point, you must’ve stood up and stepped into Steve’s space — to stop you from pouncing on Steve and clawing at him with your nails. “Y/N, this has happened before,” Sam says bluntly.

You look at him in disbelief, hoping that he’s lying. His expression is calm, jaw set and eyes cool. Your last shred of hope shrivels up. “No,” you whisper, feeling the pieces of your heart crumbling to dust at his words, despite the fact that you’ve already braced yourself for this. “No, you’re lying!” you scream, not wanting to believe your ears. It couldn’t be true, could it? Bucky had been so loyal, so loving to you. He wouldn’t do this to you, would he?

“It was a mistake to send them alone on a mission together,” Sam sighs, giving Steve his signature side-eye, conveying a thousand unspoken words with just a single, pointed look. 

“YOU KNEW?!” you shout incredulously, your patience finally breaking and making you lash out. Your rage-filled eyes flit back and forth between them, “You  _KNEW_ , and did nothing about it?”

“Now, sunshine, let’s not jump to conclusions here—,” Tony says quickly, forcing cheeriness into his tone as he materialises by your side. He grabs your elbow and pulls you back towards your stool, encouraging you to sit. Angrily, you shake his hand off and whirl around to face him. Tony takes a step back when he sees your positively feral expression.

“Did you know?” you growl.

“Y/N, I think it’s—,”.

“DID YOU KNOW?” you roar, feeling like you’re about two heartbeats away from strangling him.

The tense silence that follows is answer enough for you.

“I can’t believe this,” you whisper disbelievingly. Your voice is surprisingly calm, despite the emotional hurricane currently swirling around inside you. You sink onto the stool, suddenly feeling too weak, too queasy to stand. “All of you knew, yet no one decided to tell me? What kind of  _friends_ ,” you spit the word out disgustedly, “Do you think you are?”

Steve winces at the unconcealed hurt in your tone. “Y/N, look I—it wasn’t what you think—,”.

“Like hell it wasn’t, Steve,” you interrupt sharply, “I know what I saw!”

“It was part of the mission!” Tony exclaims. You arch an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“It’s true, Y/N,” Sam says gently, “As part of the mission, they had to act like a couple—,”.

“Well the mission’s fucking over, isn’t it?” you hiss, “They’re back at the compound, no longer undercover, so would someone  _kindly_  explain why I just caught my boyfriend screwing one of my best friends?”. Your voice rises to a hysterical pitch at the end, betraying how shaken you really are.

All of you jump about three feet in the air when the door slams open behind you.

“Oh great,” Sam mutters. You don’t turn around, but from the expression on Sam and Steve’s faces, plus the tone of Sam’s voice, you have a pretty good idea of who it might be. The thud of heavy-duty combat boots confirm your suspicions.

A flush-faced Bucky appears on your left, warm body pressing against your shoulder — you don’t dwell on  _why_  his face is flushed, or the fact that it  _only_  tinges pink in that way when he’s been doing one particular kind of activity. Bucky opens his mouth to speak, but you look pointedly at the nearly non-existent space between the two of you. Wisely, he chooses to take a couple of steps back. You see his jaw twitch, like he’s about to say something, but you hold your hand up to stop him before he can even begin.

“Don’t,” you growl menacingly, shooting him a withering glare. “Don’t you dare say a fucking thing,”.

“Great job, Robocop,” Tony mutters, “Just had to go and royally fuck things up, didn’t you?”

“Stark,” Steve says sharply, “Save it for later,”. He turns to Bucky and shoots him a look that is equal parts apologetic and unimpressed. “Buck, maybe you should…leave us alone with Y/N, for a while?”

Bucky swallows nervously, not keen on the idea, but understanding that it’s probably for the best. He turns to you again and holds his hands out, palms up, as some kind of gesture of peace. “Doll,” he starts, voice wavering a little. Something inside you twitches, and you know that you’re  _this close_ to losing it, so you put on your ‘client face’, the mask of neutrality and facade of calm you use when talking to patients. It takes everything in you to ignore the shimmer of wetness in his eyes and the tremble in his flesh hand. “Doll, I—I know, what you saw must’ve been confusing, but—but  _trust_  me—,”.

“I did,” you hiss, sick and tired of all these lies and beating around the bush. “Don’t you see? I trusted you. I trusted  _all_  of you,”. You look to each one of the boys in turn, your anguished gaze conveying far more than any words you could ever say to them. Each one flinches and ducks their eyes to avoid your stare. “And where has that gotten me?” you continue, “Right in the same place I end up whenever I trust anyone. Stabbed in the back and tossed to the bottom of the losers pile,”.

As you look around the little group, you feel the anger, frustration and hurt sloshing around inside your belly, a dizzying, jacked-up cocktail of emotions. You never thought to expect a betrayal of this magnitude from these boys. You feel like like someone’s ripped your heart out of your body, torn it to shreds, then patched it back together — except they did a botched job, meaning that the organ beating inside your chest now resembles Frankenstein’s monster. You feel used and abused, utterly worthless.

Steve has tears falling down his cheeks. You stoically ignore Bucky, who’s sobbing quietly at your side. Sam and Tony look painfully uncomfortable too. You see how your words are tearing each and every one of them apart, but right now, you don’t care. In fact, you feel maliciously glad to see them hurting, even if it is only a fraction of what you’re experiencing.

“I thought we were friends,” you whisper quietly.

“We are!” Steve says, giving you those heart-melting puppy-dog eyes. For the first time since you’ve met him, they’re having no effect.

You shake your head in sadness, then turn to Tony. “I’m leaving the compound. I want to formally resign from my position,” you say, voice eerily confident.

“You can’t do that!” Bucky exclaims, taking your hand in both of his. You snatch it away angrily and cross your arms over your chest. He recoils from you, visibly hurt by your rejection. “We need you,” he pleads, “ _I_ need you,”.

“Find someone else,” you snap. “Oh wait, I forgot. You  _already have_ ,”. Bucky jumps back like he’s been slapped, and you have to tamp down your irrational urge to wrap your arms around his shoulders and comfort him. He doesn’t need you.

Maybe he never has.

“Old habits die hard, huh?” you say viciously, “I guess once a player, always a player,”.

His eyes become impossibly wider, “No! Doll, it was never—,”.

“Save it,”, you snarl, and there’s an unforgiving finality in your tone that makes him clamp his jaw shut and choke back whatever he was going to say.

You turn to Tony again and, when he catches your gaze, he nods tensely. “I’ll notify Pepper. Happy’ll take you to her office. I’ll get someone to help pack up your things,”.

“Thank you,” you say curtly, getting off your stool.

“Y/N, please don’t go,” Bucky sobs, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself together.

“Goodbye, everyone. It was a pleasure working with all of you,” you say, blocking him out and affording yourself a final, cursory glance over the group. Your heart — or the fragmented remains of it, at least — twinges as you recall the memories and good times you’ve shared together.

Sam tips his head in a kind of respectful salute. “All the best, Y/N,”. You’re grateful that he doesn’t push you further, despite how hurt he must be. You don’t think you could take it if he fell apart — seeing Bucky and Steve crumble is more than enough.

The room is hauntingly quiet as you leave, the only sounds being the squeak of your shoes, Bucky’s barely-suppressed whimpers and Steve’s soft, murmuring voice.

You don’t turn back.

——————————

“Here you go!” says Loki, thrusting a bowl of pasta in front of you.

You jump, just managing to bite back a scream. You feel a little disoriented after your little daydream, your mind shaken and unsettled. With a small smile, you accept the food he’s made you, plus the glass of wine he hands you after. A glance at the TV shows you that the news hour is over, and some random documentary is currently playing.

 

> _But you’ve been replaced  
>  _ _I’m face to face with someone new_

“You sure you’re okay?” Loki asks concernedly, as he settles in by your side.

You force your mouth to pull into a smile. “Yeah. Just…work was really tough today,”.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“You know I can’t,”. You twirl the spaghetti around your fork and take a big bite out of it, “It’s really good!” you exclaim, hoping to deftly change the subject.

He brightens, “Yeah? I tried out this new recipe…”

Yet again, you find your mind drifting off as he drones on about his cooking. Damn that Everhart bitch for putting you in such a funk, you think. You force yourself to listen to your boyfriend, and even manage to engage in some active conversation with him over the course of the evening. You tell yourself that a momentary lapse in your control and an unexpected trip down memory lane does not mean that you’re still hung up on Bucky. It’s normal to think about past events every now and then, you reassure yourself, that’s how we remember.

But dwelling on your past will not make things any better — these are words you’ve told countless patients hundreds of times.  _I don’t need you anymore_ , you think, as Loki takes your bowl, sets it on the coffee table, then guides you to his bedroom,  _I’ve got someone else now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	3. He feels just like you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have some unfulfilling sex with Loki, then come to a gigantic realisation about your love life.

##  **~ He feels just like you ~**

“You’re so beautiful,” Loki murmurs, ghosting his lips over the side of your neck as his nimble, slender fingers work down the line of buttons on your shirt. You tip your head forward, towards him, your lips eagerly searching for his. He makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat as your tonguelazily traces over the seam of his lips, then presses forth into his mouth to dance with his own. Your fingers cup the back of his head gingerly, tangling through his long hair, the way you used to—

 _No. Not again_.

Your hands fist in the front of his shirt, pulling your bodies closer together. You try desperately to ground yourself in the moment in order to block out thoughts of your ex. You focus on the smoothness of Loki’s skin beneath your fingertips as you trail them down his neck, the silkiness of his hair, the way his deep, musky scent fills your nostrils. Your lips start to move more desperately against his and, when the need for air becomes too great, you pull off and start grazing them over his clean-shaven jaw.

Perhaps sensing the fact that your mind is not wholly into the game, Loki makes quick work of stripping you naked, deftly unclasping your bra and helping you shimmy off your smart slacks and lace panties. “Lie back,” he breathes, pushing on your shoulders and walking you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed. With one last peck to your lips, he playfully topples you over, then falls down on top of you, bracing his weight on his palms. His straining erection pokes you in the thigh.

You bite your lip as he looks down at you whilst grinning roguishly, dark eyes glinting with mischief. Loki ducks his head to press his lips to a hinge of your jaw, then proceeds to shower your neck and collarbone with gentle, butterfly kisses. Your eyes flutter shut and you allow your body to settle back, relaxing completely into the mattress and trusting him to take care of you.

His hand feels strangely cold as it glides over your ribs. You’re reminded of a cooler hand, tentatively touching you for the first time. A collection of images flash through your mind, mostly of that same hand being wielded with greater confidence as your relationship progressed. Oh, how  _wonderful_  it had felt to have those metal fingers dancing over your heated skin, acting as a blessed salve, a much-needed relief during the heat of the moment. It had taken him a long time to accept that the arm was a part of him, and longer still to realise that he had the capacity to use it in a non-destructive manner. He had been so reluctant to use it on you, fearing that he might hurt you — but the look on his face when you’d moaned wantonly after he brushed it over your sex for the first time had been priceless. His opinion on it had changed drastically ever since.

Loki nips at your hip, then brushes his lips back and forth over the crease of your thigh, making you squirm impatiently. With a dark chuckle, his hands shove your legs apart, splaying you open. He slides off the bed to kneel between your legs, draping your thighs over his shoulders, and leaving you completely at his mercy. Backlit as he is by the light spilling in from the hallway, all you can see is his darkened silhouette, and for a moment, your brain is tricked into believing that it’s Bucky.

Bucky was always so eager to taste you. If he had his way, he would probably live with his head buried between your thighs. You recall how he used to groan lustfully at the first taste, muttering something about how damn sweet you were. Whilst he ate you out, he would moan as much as, if not more than you did. He always went at it like a man possessed, using his lips, tongue, teeth and fingers in mind-boggling synchronicity to give you some of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had. It seemed that his honed expertise at reading people in combat situations translated into positive attributes in the bedroom.

Some nights, when he was overcome with a wave of insecurity, he’d want to make you come over and over using just his mouth and fingers — content to ignore his own body’s needs, in favour of focusing on you. Seeing you come apart so completely in his hands seemed to do wonders for his self confidence. Nothing riled him up more than seeing you squirm and writhe on the bed, your hips bucking and grinding against his mouth as he brought you to release. You’ve never been with anyone as good at pussy eating, or enjoyed doing it as much as Bucky.

Loki gently nibbles your inner thigh, drawing you out of your reverie. He winks playfully at you, and that is all the warning you get before he is pressing his lips to your cunt.

“Ah! F-fuck yes,” you stutter, as he runs the flat of his tongue over your slit in one broad stroke. Loki repeats the action several times to warm you up, patiently waiting until you’re huffing breathlessly before switching gears. You feel arousal pooling in your gut like warm honey, and you will yourself to restrain your thoughts, keeping Bucky-related things to a minimum.

 

> _Now if I keep my eyes closed, he feels just like you_

Your heavy-lidded eyes slide shut. You throw your head back in bliss and fist your hands in the sheets as Loki laves away at your sex. The rest of the world falls away, all your woes and worries temporarily fading to muted background noise, as you surrender yourself completely to him. Loki laps and nibbles at your slick folds, then stiffens his tongue and fucks it into your hole, relentlessly teasing your entrance.

“Yes, baby!” you cry, when he swishes his pointed tongue over your engorged clit. He alternates between swirling around it in tight, concentric circles, and lashing across the nub from side to side, making you thrash and squirm in his unforgiving grip. You mewl helplessly when he closes his sinful lips around the swollen bud, sucking on it hard whilst gently tapping his tongue on it. Bucky’s cheek feels strangely smooth against your thigh—

 _No. Not Bucky,_ you remind yourself.

In your sex-fogged state, your brain is disoriented. Part of you wants to imagine that it’s not Loki between your legs, but Bucky…even though you feel so incredibly guilty for even thinking that. The other half of you — the rational, logical, sensible part of you — knows that that is not something you’ll get to experience ever again. You feel lightheaded, partly from the pleasure and partly from your confusion. Your world is spinning. One moment, things are right way up and half a heartbeat later, everything has turned head over heels and you’re unable to tell up from down. In a daze, you struggle to make sense of things as a talented tongue dances over your dripping sex.

When a flesh finger slides into your folds, a wanton moan escapes you. “Oh  _s-shit_ , god yeah, Bucky—,” you gasp heatedly.

The man between your thighs stills and immediately pulls away from you.  _Oh crap_ , you think, realising your mistake. Loki’s chin and lips glisten with your wetness, and he drags the hem of his shirt over the area to clean things up. He’s worryingly silent and you sit up slowly, dread tightening its grip around your heart.

“What did you say?” he asks quietly, voice betraying no emotion whatsoever.

You slide off the bed to kneel on the floor beside him. Loki keeps his head down, pointedly averting his gaze. Your hands cup his jaw and tilt his face up to look at you. He avoids your eyes, keeping them locked on your lips. “I’m sorry, baby,” you murmur, “I—I don’t know what came over me,”.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” he growls, finally snapping his eyes up to meet yours.

“No one,” you tell him sincerely, even though it feels like someone is twisting a knife into your stomach at the lie. “Absolutely no one. I’ve no idea what came over me,”.

“Was he your ex?” he sneers, upper lip curling in a displeased snarl, “Someone from high school? Used to fantasise about him?”

You want to flinch at his words and defend Bucky, but you resist the urge.“Baby no,” you whisper, tilting forward to brush your lips against his, “Look, let’s forget that ever happened,”.

“Yeah? Just avoid the situation, right?” Loki scoffs, jerking his head to the side to avoid your lips. Nonplussed, you softly graze your teeth over his jaw, and let your hand drop to his crotch. You’re surprised to find him still hard and decide to use it to your advantage. You gently cup his erection, making him suck in a sharp breath.

“Want me to take care of you, babe?” you purr, nuzzling into the side of his neck, “Show you how much I want you?”

Loki loops his arm over your shoulders, curls his body around you and slants his mouth over yours, crushing your lips in a hungry, lustful kiss. You sit there patiently, letting your body go pliant and limber as he works out some of his frustrations. “You’re mine,” he says huskily, voice rumbling from somewhere deep in his throat, “Remember that, baby,”.

“I’m yours,” you echo, tipping your head back as his teeth catch the skin on the underside of your jaw. He sucks a bruise there, making you shiver at his possessiveness. It’s clear that he’s on board with the idea of you pleasuring him as a means to move on from your mistake and for that, you breathe an internal sigh of relief. 

His confusion and anger is warranted, obviously. You’d never told Loki much about your last relationship, or even about your time with the Avengers, and he never pressed you to tell him. It made sense that Loki didn’t know who Bucky was; most of the world referred to him as James Barnes. Right now, you’re more than a little grateful of that — you can’t help but feel like the fallout would be a lot worse if Loki knew just how much Bucky meant to you.

Your hands tug at the hem of his t-shirt and he hurriedly flings it off. “Get on the bed, baby,” you murmur, giving his cock another appreciative squeeze. Loki grunts at the contact, then hastily scrambles to sit at the edge of the bed. You situate yourself between his spread thighs as he leans back on his palms, his chest flushed pink from the exertion, breath coming in quick pants. You run your palms down his torso, down his jean-clad thighs, then use your index fingers to trace the inner seam, making him huff impatiently when your fingers brush his bulge.

You waste no time undoing his belt and pulling down his fly. Loki helpfully lifts up his hips so you can tug his jeans and briefs down his legs, freeing his throbbing cock.

“Ohh,  _god_  yes,” he groans, carding his fingers through your hair as you swirl your tongue around his slit, lapping up the pearls of pre-come that have already seeped out. He tastes more bitter than Bucky used—

 _Get it together, woman_.

You steel your resolve, channelling all your energy and attention into pleasuring Loki and salvaging your evening together. You pull out all the stops, flicking your tongue over the sensitive ridge, giving him tiny, kitten-licks around the crown, and tracing a wet trail up the side of his cock with your tongue. When you finally close your lips around the head, he grunts in satisfaction, hips jerking involuntarily into the welcoming warmth of your mouth.

Loki’s grip in your hair tightens and he puts pressure on the back of your head, silently asking you to take more of him down. You acquiesce his request, relaxing your jaw and engulfing his shaft nearly all the way to the hilt in one fluid, well-practiced motion. Your tongue flicks across the underside of his dick as you swallow down his length. You stop when his head nudges the back of your throat, tears springing to your eyes as your gag reflex is tested.

“C’mon baby, all the way,” he growls, pressing down even more. You can’t move your head back, so you relax your throat as best as you can, allowing his length to slide down it. The pressure is a somewhat uncomfortable, but beyond that, you can’t help but feel more than a little humiliated; you’re drooling profusely, your eyes are streaming uncontrollably and it’s a struggle to breathe. Loki holds you there — with your nose buried in the coarse, wiry hairs at the base of his cock — for what feels like an eternity, before finally letting you up.

You pull off and take a shuddery breath, grateful to be able to completely fill your lungs in one go. Loki’s expression is dark and calculating as he drinks in your naked form; the saliva coating your chin, your tousled hair, your heaving breasts. He reaches a hand out and runs his thumb over your cheekbone, down the side of your face and finally, over your lips. You part them slightly and he grins wickedly at your silent invitation, sliding his thumb in between them. You close your lips around the invading digit and lave your tongue over the pad of his thumb, in much the same way you showered his cock with attention. His pupils darken tenfold and his nostrils flare at your actions.

“Good girl,” Loki croons, delicately extricating his thumb from the heat of your mouth. “Come back to me,”.

You drop a kiss to the side of his cock, then duck your head down to mouth at his balls, lavishing your tongue over the delicate skin, before taking one between your lips. “Ahh— _fuck_ —yeah that’s good,” he hisses, threading his fingers through your hair once more as you switch your attention back to his bobbing member. Loki makes you deepthroat him a couple more times — much to your displeasure — before finally allowing you to sit back on your ankles.

You watch with curious eyes as he curls his hand around his spit-soaked member in a loose fist, stroking it in languid, leisurely motions. Loki jerks his head to the bed. “Get on, baby, I wanna fuck you,” he says, voice low and throaty with arousal. On any other night, a little shiver of excitement would run down your spine. Tonight though, his words seem to have the opposite effect — a sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. Something tells you that you’re not going to particularly enjoy this.

Loki holds a hand out and you grasp it as you get on your feet. “On all fours, ass up baby,” he tells you, as he leans over to the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer to retrieve a condom. You climb onto the edge of the bed and assume the requested position, taking your weight on your forearms and knees. In this pose, your back has an elegant arch to it and your behind looks extra curvy. From the corner of your eye, you see Loki admiring your nude body as he slides on the rubber.

He comes to stand behind you and runs his palms over your ass, marvelling at the way it’s so enticingly presented to him, ripe for the taking. You playfully wiggle it at him and he chuckles wickedly. You feel the blunt pressure of the head of his cock at your entrance, and then he’s pushing in, penetrating your folds with his girth. He steadies himself with one hand on your waist and the other on your shoulder.

When Loki enters you, it feels oddly foreign, despite the fact that the two of you have had sex countless times throughout your five months together. In fact, your physical and sexual chemistry is off the charts, and sex has become one of the foundations of your relationship. The two of you are still in the so-called honeymoon phase of your relationship, so it’s completely acceptable to be going at it as often as you do. Most times, the sex is wild and passionate, but tonight, something feels off. It’s like two strangers, not two lovers, are coming together.

You close your eyes as Loki sets up a brutal, unforgiving rhythm, driving his length into you with almost bruising force. His fingers dig painfully into your skin and your bodies collide with a resounding  _smack_  each time his pelvis meets your ass. He’s muttering a continuous string of profanities under his breath, broken up every now and then by an impassioned growl or heated moan. You find yourself blocking him out.

It’s apparent that this is a show more for himself than anything else. Loki couldn’t care less about your pleasure — your slip-up earlier on is clearly still affecting him, and his heightened roughness is probably his way of ‘claiming’ you. You let him have his moment, exerting his supposed dominance over you. With your eyes squeezed shut, you let your head hang loose on your neck, wanting to let your mind float and leave you oblivious to your surroundings.

You remember when it was a different body hunching over you. If you close your eyes and focus hard enough on the sensations, it’s not hard to imagine that you’re back at the compound, in the room you shared with him. It had taken him a long time to become comfortable enough with the idea of touching you. Initially, he’d been so timid, always looking to you for verbal reassurance that what he was doing was okay, was good, wasn’t hurting you. As his confidence grew, you began to see glimpses of what Bucky Barnes might’ve been like back in old-time Brooklyn, reeling in dames at the dance halls and showing them a good time between the sheets.

Your last night together, before he’d gone off on that godforsaken mission had been wonderful. Bucky had spread you out on the bed and crawled between your legs. You remember his rakish smirk as he put his lips to your sex. He’d made you come apart in what felt like mere seconds, his clever fingers — both metal and flesh — and talented tongue plucking at your sweet spots with stunning precision and bringing you to a breath-taking climax. When he sheathed himself inside you, you’d hitched your legs around his waist and locked your ankles behind his back. He’d rocked into you slowly, tenderly, whilst covering your neck and chest in all manner of kisses. Neither of you were in a hurry to find release, both of you just wanting to enjoy the intimacy of being entangled in each other’s arms.

You remember whispering sweet nothings to each other, and interlacing your fingers with his metal ones as he pinned your hand to the bed. You remember him pressing a sloppy kiss to your mouth as his hips started to move a little faster, rutting more desperately into your core as he neared his peak. You remember how fiercely he’d said “I love you,”, how passionately he’d groaned your name as his warmth flooded you.

The memory brings tears to your eyes. You choke back a sob, managing to disguise it as a breathless moan. You come crashing down to reality, and realise that Loki is still going at it behind you. From the cadence of his breathing and the pace of his thrusts, you can tell that he’s close. You’re thankful that your face is turned away from him, so he can’t see the few tears that roll down your cheek as you relieve the last night you spent being truly happy.

“ _F-fuck,_ I’m close, Y/N,” Loki grits out, hips starting to snap impossibly faster against your ass.

 

> _I, I know where to lay  
>  _ _I know what to say  
>  _ _It’s all the same_

You moan as convincingly as you possibly can. “Ohhh yeah, fuck, me too baby,” you pant, even though the last thing your body feels like doing right now is having an orgasm. You discreetly wipe your cheeks on the sheets, ridding your face of any evidence of tears. You start to push your hips back to match his thrusts, forcing yourself to exhale heatedly each time your bodies meet. You breathe an internal sigh of relief when he finally comes with a clenched-teeth shout. It takes a little (a lot) of acting on your part to fake an orgasm — sadly, something you’ve had to do far too many times in the past — and you’re not sure that it’s entirely convincing, but figure that he’s too wrapped up in his own release to care, anyway.

Loki pats your rump affectionately once he’s carefully pulled out of your warmth. He collapses on his back beside you, a pleased, sated grin on his face — it’s probably safe to say that he’s forgiven you for accidentally calling him Bucky earlier on. His hair is sweaty and matted, damp tendrils clinging to his temples. His torso is redder than a tomato and his breathing is laboured. You press a kiss to his cheek, then head over to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

As you wash your face and brush your teeth, you can’t help but feel pissed off. Not because he left you unsatisfied — no, you knew going into this that you weren’t going to get off anyway, what with your mind being in such a negative headspace — but because you feel cheap and used. You feel peeved, utterly incensed by the fact that your boyfriend just  _used_  your body to please himself. Well, he’s done that before, obviously, but never has it felt so…clinical, so disconnected and impersonal.

The realisation hits you like a bullet train.

All your life, your relationships have only ever left you feeling used and cheated. You’ve been used not just for your body (though that  _is_ the most common reason), but also for your intelligence, and your reputation within the medical community. Even with Bucky — though things had looked so hopeful at the start, and you were optimistic that he would be the person to turn the tables in your favour — you felt betrayed. He’d used you to recover, to remember what it was to be a man again, and then left you in the dust as he chased after pastures more green.

Beyond that, you realise, with sickening clarity, how  _willingly_  you allow yourself to be trampled over. Not just by Bucky, but by Loki, Thor, Pietro — everyone. Everyone you’ve ever been with has used you in some way.

You’re further appalled by the fact that you feel like you deserve this. You’ve never been in a relationship where you  _haven’t_  been used, and you wonder if maybe your body feels like it needs to feel that way in order to get by. Maybe you’ve subconsciously programmed yourself to expect and accept the manipulation, deceit and betrayal. Like a drug addict coming back for a fix, you just can’t seem to keep yourself out of relationships that are just baskets of lies in disguise.

You lean against the wall for support, completely stunned by your musings. You become aware of the fact that you’ve been dragging yourself through every relationship using the same robotic gestures and repeating the same monotonous words. Sure, the names and the situation changes every time — and none could be more different than with Bucky — but on closer inspection, you realise that at its core, every relationship you’d ever had was the same. It relied upon you saying the same words, and using the same actions in various manifestations, in order to placate your partner. No wonder you felt so used each time; you literally bent over backwards to make your partner happy, yet they did hardly anything in return for you.

Silent tears roll down your cheek, but you barely notice them as you mull over these ideas. All men really are the same, it would seem.

A sharp tap on the door startles you. Loki comes in and you quickly splash some water onto your face to hide the fact that you’ve been crying. You smile wanly at him as you slip out the door, your sudden epiphany having shaken you up so thoroughly that you don’t have the strength for much beyond that.

Loki catches your wrist and turns you around to look at him. “We’re good, right?” he asks softly, eyes searching your face for clues as to what’s going on in your mind.

You school your cheek muscles to pull into a convincing-enough smile, hiding your emotions behind a mask, like you always do. “Yeah,” you say, “Yeah we’re great,”. He assess you for a moment longer before nodding and letting you go, shutting the door behind you as you leave.

They’re words you’ve said hundreds of times before; it’s a lie you’ve used on dozens of occasions. And, though you may know what to say and what to do to make your partner happy in the moment, ultimately, they never stay. This relationship, like all your other ones will come to the same ending, with you being left heartbroken and blue. Sure, the way in which it ends might be novel — maybe he’ll want to go back to Norway, or perhaps he’ll find someone prettier and decide to end things with you. It doesn’t matter. It’s all the same to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	4. It's nothing new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have some more epiphanies, after making some unpleasant discoveries.

 

##  **~ It’s nothing new ~**

> _He’ll never stay, they never do_

You go to Loki’s dresser to pull out one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers to wear as your pyjamas for the night. You don’t often stay over at his place, as you like to arrive at your office fairly early in the morning to squeeze in some paperwork, or prep yourself for the clients you’ll be seeing during the day. Because you don’t typically spend the night, you only have your bare essentials here — a toothbrush, some makeup wipes, your medication, things like that. Hence the need to borrow his clothes, although Loki’s penchant for buying particularly soft t-shirts may also contribute to that.

After slipping on your borrowed sleepwear, you head over to your side of the bed, feeling utterly exhausted after a long day at work and ready for sleep. You’re already cozied up under the covers when you remember that you’re supposed to be heading into your office tomorrow morning, as you have a rescheduled appointment with one of your patients. You’d need to get up pretty early, in order to have enough time to nip home and change into fresh work clothes. You look around the room for your purse, intending to retrieve your phone and set an alarm, before groaning frustratedly when you realise that you’ve left it in the living room.

“Loki?” you call, raising your voice so that he can hear you over the pitter-patter of the shower.

“Yeah, babe?” he replies, voice sounding a little echoey as it bounces off the tiled walls.

“Can I use your phone to set an alarm?”

“Sure, go ahead,’.

Loki’s phone is charging on his nightstand, so you roll over to the other side of the bed to get it. You hit the button on the side to turn it on, then punch in his password.

He’d left his last app open and running, so it’s the first thing you see when his phone unlocks. It’s a messaging app. You’re about to press the home button, not wanting to pry into the private conversations he has with his friends, when the last few messages catch your eye.

 **SC:** _We still on for this Monday, right babe?_

 **_LL:_ ** _Yeah. Gf says she’s got clients the whole day._

 **SC:** _Sweet!! Can’t wait to see u xx_

You wonder who the fuck this SC person is. And, more importantly, why they’re calling him ‘babe’. Surely that’s a pet name used more commonly between people who are…friendly with each other? The person talks like a woman, but you know better than to jump to conclusions so early. 

Your gaze flickers over to the closed bathroom door. The shower is still running and, knowing Loki as you do, you estimate that he’ll probably stay in there for a good five minutes before coming out. You don’t want to snoop — you’ve never been  _that_  type of girlfriend — but something about the tone of these messages is making alarm bells ring shrilly in the back your head.

Another glance over those three messages only serves to heighten your unease. You have no problem with Loki spending extended amounts of time with his friends, but something about this seems shady and suspicious. You’d like more information, but are reluctant to stick your nose into his private affairs.

You chew your bottom lip, deliberating over your little dilemma. Surely it can’t hurt to have a quick peek? But then again, you want to trust him. Relationships can’t function without trust, right? You desperately want to think the best of him, but the teasing, flirtatious undertone in those three short messages have created a yawning hole in the pit of your stomach that you just can’t fill with any amount of reason. Hopefully, you’re just overreacting, and reading too much into something otherwise insignificant. You pray that this is not what you think you is, but your gut instinct is telling you otherwise.

You register the time stamp at the corner of each text box. The brief exchange was made about an hour ago, so you would’ve been at his place at the time. What the hell was Loki doing, messaging another girl with you around?

Okay, maybe that thought was a little self-centred and dramatic.

You try to recall what the two of you had been doing at the time. It’s a difficult challenge — given the fact that your mind has been wandering off and focusing on other things this entire evening — but to the best of your memory, you think that you and Loki were probably chilling in front of the TV and having dinner.

The penny drops.

You remember telling Loki about your upcoming week at work, and mentioning something about having back-to-back sessions on Monday. His phone was in his hand at the time, so he probably sent it then. That in and of itself is not incriminating evidence, you rationalise. There’s nothing wrong with him texting or messaging other people whilst in your presence — in fact, he’s completely entitled to do so — but the whole situation just seems a little too sketchy for your liking.

Your thumb hovers over the screen as you hesitate. Do you really want to scroll up and read the rest of these messages? What if you don’t like what you see? What would Loki think if he came out and caught you snooping around his phone? Millions of questions race through your mind. Though you doubt yourself and second-guess your actions, you can’t deny the uneasiness gnawing at your stomach.

You scroll upwards.

You make several discoveries.

You find out that ‘SC’ stands for Sharon Carter. From the ease of conversation, it’s clear that Loki has known her for a long time. The playful banter being traded back and forth indicates a casual familiarity between them, like they’re more than just friends from work, or something.

(There are other pieces of evidence to suggest that they’re  _far_  more than just friends, but you aren’t ready to process them, just yet).

They’ve been messaging each other almost every day, often multiple times a day. You think that in the last week alone, he’s spent more time chatting to her online than talking to you in person. To your dismay, you find several messages of a similar nature to the first few you saw. Nearly all the exchanges between them are flirtatious in tone, dripping with innuendo and highly,  _highly_ suggestive. Sharon is apparently a big fan of the kissy face emoji. There are multiple discussions of plans to meet up, all tailored around your work schedule. You feel slightly nauseous, knowing that your boyfriend is making arrangements to see another girl behind your back. Admittedly, it’s not the first time that such a thing has happened to you, but past experience doesn’t make  _this_ any better.

Nothing could prepare you for the pictures.

They’re revealing, to say the least, although ‘revealing’ could be interpreted in a couple of different ways, in this instance. It is perhaps more accurate to say that you uncover several highly explicit photos, taken with the clear purpose of teasing the other person. She’s sent Loki several pictures over the past few weeks — ranging from nude selfies, to shots in the mirror, to snaps of her in various stages of undress. You lose all hope when you learn that he’s responded in kind, sending her a number of scandalous pictures of himself over the past month.

It’s sickening to see.

The pictures are not, in fact, the worst of it. What’s more terrible — the thing that  _really_  makes you want to hurl — are the erotic and lewd messages that accompany them. They’re such a blatant proclamation of his infidelity, you wonder how you haven’t noticed any of the other signs before.

You sigh heavily. Of all the things to happen tonight, the universe just  _had_  to screw you over again.

You feel like your emotional wounds — barely healed from your time with Bucky — have now been re-opened, the stitches harshly yanked apart. Metaphorical blood spurts from the gashes.

With the bitter taste of bile in your throat and your heart threatening to thump its way out of your ribcage, you set Loki’s phone back down on the nightstand, proud at the way your hand remains so steady. Suddenly feeling very much awake, you get out of bed and pad around the room, collecting your discarded articles of clothing. You strip out of his shirt and boxers, feeling more than a little bit disgusted by the fact that they’ve touched your skin, and change into your rumpled work clothes.

Loki comes out of the shower just as you’re pulling on your shirt, a towel slung low on his waist and dripping wet hair plastered to his scalp. Rivulets of water meander down his sculpted torso. There was a time where looking at that gorgeous, toned body made you weak in the knees. Now, as your eyes drink in the sight, you feel strangely emotionless, indifferent to it all.

He’s confused when he sees that you’re dressed. “You’re not staying the night?” he asks.

You say nothing, avoiding his gaze as you do up the last few buttons on your shirt. Sensing your discontent, Loki timidly steps towards you. “We’re good…right? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” you echo, keeping your tone cool and detached. “What’s wrong is the fact that you and Sharon have a thing going on that you forgot to mention to me,” you say, placing your hands on your hips and jutting your chin out defiantly, _daring_  him to deny your accusation.

His face goes deathly white. “How did you—were you snooping through my phone?!”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I asked to borrow your phone to set an alarm, didn’t I? I open it, and guess what’s the first thing I see?”

Loki sighs in frustration, scrubbing one hand over his face vexedly, before stepping towards you. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t what you think it is,” he says, reaching to take hold of your hands.

Furious, you snatch them away, and cross your arms over your chest defensively. “Like hell it isn’t,” you snarl, “I read those messages—,”.

“You had no right to!” he protests, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Fine!” you exclaim, “Fine,  _I_  did something I shouldn’t have, I’ll accept that, but you—,”. You narrow your eyes and jab your index finger into his sternum, “I  _implore_  you tell me that what you did was less wrong than what I did,” you growl quietly, venom lacing your words.

Loki breathes deeply through his nose and presses his fingers to his temples. “Y/N, can we talk about this properly? In the morning?”

“We’re talking just fine, I think,” you spit, “Besides, it’s painfully clear to me what you want, and that is not  _me_ ,”.

“Yeah?” he scoffs, levelling his gaze with yours so that you can see the barely-restrained rage in his eyes, “Well, you know what? No one would want you anyway, not with the way you’re obsessed with your precious  _Bucky_ ,”.

Overcome by fury, fatigue and a whole host of other emotions, you crack the back of your hand across his cheek. Loki staggers back and clutches his fingers to the stinging skin, staring at you in disbelief. Your palm throbs, but it’s a kind of pain that makes you glower with pride.

“Don’t you dare speak about him like that,” you say sharply, your tone containing enough threat to make him take a step back. You step towards him and he pales even further, if that were possible. “Even at his worse, he’ll still be worth more than ten of you,”.

“See? Even after he breaks your heart, you still scurry after him like a lost puppy,”, Loki sneers, trying to look as intimidating as he can despite the fact that his cheek is still smarting. You see right through his facade, though; from the panic in his eyes, it’s clear that he is downright  _terrified_  of what you might be capable of.

“Stop making this about me!” you roar, getting right up in his space so that your words have the highest impact. He’s tall enough that you have to tip your head back to look at him when you’re this close, but you derive some twisted satisfaction when you see the flicker of fear in his expression. It pleases you no end to know that you can make a grown man cower under your gaze.

“How long have you been sleeping with her?” you ask quietly, voice coming out strangely calm and collected, betraying none of the sorrow clinging to your heart. Really, your tone is the exact opposite of what you feel like internally: a complete wreck, emotions descending into utter chaos.

“Look, Y/N, it’s nothing serious between Sharon and I—,”.

“No?” you interrupt, feigning surprise. “Sending each other nudes, and saying I love you or I miss you to each other every damn day, that isn’t serious? You do that with just  _friends_ , huh?”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“I think I’ve seen enough,” you grit out, blinking your eyes rapidly to stop the sudden onset of tears from spilling out. You’re proud to have made it this far without falling to pieces, but know that your limits are being tested. Your tough-girl mask is seconds away from crumpling. “I’ll pack the things you’ve left at my place in a box and leave it at the front desk. Any of my things here, you can just throw away. Don’t call me, I don’t want to speak to you,”, you say briskly, adopting a business-like tone.

“Y/N,” Loki says desperately, sinking to his knees and trying, once again to take hold of your hands. You let him this time, but quirk an eyebrow up to signify your lack of amusement. “Y/N, please,  _please_  let me make it up to you,” he murmurs, green eyes searching your face for any hint of a possibility for redemption.

You school your face into a neutral expression. “I don’t know why you’re even trying to make things work with me,” you say, completely unaffected by his words or actions. “It’s clear to me that she’s the one you really want. I’m not even sad to see you go,”.

“Baby—,”.

“Goodbye, Loki,” you say curtly, “Have fun with Sharon. You deserve each other,”.

He nods dejectedly, recognising a lost cause when he sees one.

You take a page out of Maria’s book, turning sharply on your heel and striding confidently out the door. You make a quick detour to the living room to retrieve your heels and your purse, before grabbing your coat off the hook and leaving his house for the last time, feeling only the tiniest bit upset about it.

It’s not that late when you leave his building. A glance at your phone tells you that it’s just a little after nine. You should probably take a cab home, or maybe head over to the nearest subway station, but the night is clear, and you figure that taking a walk will probably do you some good. Loki’s place is not that far from the apartment you share with Wanda and Peggy anyway — it’s a journey that’d take just a bit under twenty minutes.

You walk at a brisk pace, hands shoved into your pockets and head bowed to the crisp night breeze. The rhythmic click-clack of your heels lulls your mind into reflecting about the crazy day you’ve had.

After several gruelling consultations, you’d received that infuriating email from Christine Everhart (aka world’s most notorious journalist-bitch). It had been a lovely surprise to receive a call from Jane afterwords, though. Talking to her had helped you to calm down somewhat, but seeing the boys in Bangkok on that news clip only served to bring a whole slew of memories front and centre in your mind. You’d hardly been able to stop thinking about Bucky this whole evening. Then there was the god-awful sex with Loki.

Your body shudders at the thought.

And now this? Discovering that your boyfriend has been cheating on you for who-knows-how-long? Yeah, the universe really  _does_  want to give you hell tonight. This whole day has left you more unsettled than you’ve been in a long time. All you want to do is go home, curl up in bed with a nice mug of tea and sleep for an eternity.

You’re in a pensive mood this evening, and the walk home provides you with the perfect opportunity to go back to examining your love life. The train of thought you were on at Loki’s place had been interrupted by the whole cheating episode, but now, amidst the hustle and bustle of the Brooklyn streets at night, you can finally go back to your musings.

 

> _And I, I know how to play  
>  _ _I know this game  
>  _ _It’s all the same_

Your epiphany in Loki’s bathroom has given you a deeper understanding of your attitude towards love and relationships. Initially, you’d wondered whether your tendency to allow yourself to be ‘used’ by your partners was a result of your inner masochist deriving some perverted form of pleasure from being manipulated in that way. Now though, you’re more inclined to believe that you’re not so much  _willing_  to let yourself be trampled on, but rather,  _resigned_  to the fact that it’ll inevitably happen, because from your experience, that’s just part of the life cycle of a romantic partnership.

A couple is walking towards you, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, his head tilted in her direction. You see the smile flickering on his lips as he listens intently to whatever she’s saying. Watching them, you realise that  _that_  is what you love. You love the  _idea_ of love. You adore the so-called ‘honeymoon’ phase; being showered with gifts and attention, not being able to get enough of each other and of course, having a whole lot of sex. You get a thrill from playing the game of love, because every time you switch up the players, the game takes on a whole new dimension. It ensures that your life is constantly evolving.

What saddens you is the fact that although you enjoy playing the love game, you’re not actually that good at it, as evidenced by your string of failed relationships. The gambles that you take are never worth the risk, as they leave you feeling even more sorry for yourself than before you got into the relationship — a feat in and of itself.

You don’t know how to win at this game.

Maybe that’s because every time the players change, the rules change, so what you thought to be true in your last relationship may prove to be utterly false in your next one. Things are made even more difficult when the other player is a cheater, who doesn’t play by the supposedly ‘established’ rules at all. When they reveal their hand, you feel as if someone’s yanked the floor out from under your feet and left you flailing in midair.

When drops of rain start to fall from the sky, you turn up the collar of your coat and start to walk a little faster. You almost laugh out loud at how  _impeccable_ the timing is. The universe has literally decided to give you the perfect setting to complement your downcast mood.  

As you turn onto your street, you become conscious of the fact that your love life really is quite predictable.

You’ll find a guy you like in a bar, or maybe a coffee shop, give him your number, and schedule a date. The two of you will find a few things in common and you’ll feel mildly hopeful that this time, things’ll be different. Soon enough, you’ll engage in some hot and steamy sex, and a few weeks — or if you’re lucky, months — will pass whereby everything in your life is good, you’re happy with each other and you truly believe that this’ll work out.

Then, something will happen to burst your blissful bubble. More often than not, you’ll get cheated on;  _why_  do you have to end up with all the cheaters?

You chuckle mirthlessly. Even though you’ve been played so many times, you never seem to be able to spot the signs. In the aftermath of your loss, the power of hindsight will make all the signals glaringly obvious, and you’ll curse yourself for being such an idiot. Love really does make you blind, it seems.

The relationship will end in an unsurprising manner, usually with you confronting your boyfriend. The two of you will exchange some heated words, and then you’ll storm out the door. Textbook example: your break-up with Loki fifteen minutes ago. They always say the same thing, you realise, drawing more and more parallels between your past relationships. Why do they always say the same things? Usually, they’ll always include some version of “This isn’t what you think it is,” or “Just listen for a sec, okay?” and of course, your personal favourite, “Y/N, please don’t go,”.

You wince when you recall Bucky saying those exact words to you — how his bottom lip had wobbled and the corners of his eyes had brimmed with tears.

Bucky had been the one to break your trend.

You can’t help but think how different the rules were when you were playing this game with Bucky. Things had been a lot muddier then, your positions on the board far less clear because you had had a professional relationship with him before you took a leap of faith and decided to let him in romantically. Your relationship with him lasted far longer than any of your other ones ever had — you got well-past the honeymoon phase, settling down into a comfortable routine around each other. You’d ‘levelled up’ in the game of love, so to speak, and treading in this new territory was both exciting and nerve-wracking for you.

Maybe the fact that you let things get so far with Bucky was the reason why, when  _he_  pulled the floor out from underneath your feet, the fall was particularly hard. He’d taken you up so high, you’d lost sight of the ground. More importantly, you’d forgotten what it felt like to face-plant into it.

In the end, you muse, your break-up with Loki was to be expected. There was nothing new, or particularly novel about it. As you arrive at the main entrance of your building, you come to the same conclusion you made earlier, in Loki’s bathroom; all your relationships really are more similar than they are different. The features of the ending never change: heartbreak, regret and rejection, in addition to bucket after bucket of tears. True love really was only for Hollywood movies.

Even though Bucky had led you to believe otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	5. Tell me where I went wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you have a break-up chat with Wanda and Peggy (and Jane).

##  **~ Tell me where I went wrong ~**

The light drizzle has turned into a storm that is rapidly intensifying, sheets of rain sweeping across the streets. You’ve made it to your building in the nick of time and dash inside before you become completely soaked. You make a beeline through the lobby, heading straight for the elevators at the far end of the foyer. Stan, the elderly night guard, is reading comics behind his desk and tips his hat to you in greeting as you pass by.

Your hallway reeks of its usual rotten egg odour, which always seems to get a little stronger whenever it’s raining. You hold your breath and stride briskly to your apartment, fishing your keys out of your purse as you go. You let yourself in as quietly as possible — no simple task, given the fact that the front door squeaks loud enough to be heard from the floor below.

As expected, the apartment is mostly in darkness, save for the faint glow of the TV in the living room. As you shrug off your coat, you smile fondly when you catch sight of Wanda and Peggy. They are sprawled out on the couch, each occupying one end. Neither seems to have heard you coming in — which says something about how accustomed they’ve become to the squeaky door — utterly engrossed in whatever it is they’re watching. After you arrange your coat and shoes in the hallway closet, you pad into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water.

“Oh my god, Kim’s an idiot. Like, an actual idiot,” Wanda groans.

You snort, leaning against the kitchen counter, “What’d she do this time?”

Peggy lifts her head up, craning her neck around to look at you. “Y/N! You’re back!”

“How observant you are,” you remark dryly, shuffling over to the couch.

“You’re home early,” she continues, “It’s just turned half past nine, hasn’t it?”

“Again with the ‘stating the obvious’, Pegs,” you sigh. You climb over the back of the couch, glass of water balanced precariously in one hand, and sink into the space between them, crushing Wanda’s toes and Peggy’s calves in the process. The yelp in pain and grumble various curses under their breath as they shift around to make room for you.

Wanda extends her arms in a dramatic flourish. “Welcome to our crazy wild Friday night!” she says, “As you can see, things are going absolutely mad here. We’ve got pizza—,”

“She means ‘an empty pizza box’,” Peggy interrupts.

“—alcohol and the Kardashians, what more could you ask for?” Wanda finishes.

You snort and shake your head in amusement. “You’re a pair of old ladies, I tell you,” you mutter, taking in Wanda’s ratty t-shirt and messy bun, sharply contrasted to Peggy’s blue-and-white striped pyjama set. They’re about as opposite as night and day, those two, but somehow, they make things work.

“You look terrible,” Peggy informs you abruptly. Most times, you absolutely adores the way she cut straight to the point and never beats around the bush. Tonight, with you in your emotionally drained state, her words just make you feel  _that_ much more shitty.

“Gee, thanks,” you drawl, rolling your eyes with as much sarcasm as you can muster, “It’s so nice to be welcomed home by you lot,”.

“I thought you were staying at Loki’s for the night,” says Wanda, talking to you even though her eyes are back on the screen, watching the saucy, rich-bitch drama unfold.

“I thought that was the plan too,” you admit softly, settling back into the couch and tucking your legs underneath you. From the corner of your eye, you see Wanda redirecting her attention back to you when she notices your sorrowful tone. On your left, you feel Peggy’s stare practically boring a hole into the side of your skull.

“So what changed?” asks Peggy, cocking her head to the side and narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

You’re hesitate for a heartbeat before answering, and in that split-second, Wanda gets it. The girl can seriously read minds.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, putting a hand up to her mouth, “You guys broke up?”

You nod morosely, “Cheated on me with a girl called Sharon,”.

“Called it!” says Peggy, fist-punching the air triumphantly. The three of you tend to make bets over your love life — because let’s be honest, if you’re going to be such a train wreck when it comes to romance, a little bit of comic relief and lighthearted competition can’t hurt — placing wagers on how long you’d stay with a guy and the reason for your separation. You’re not in the mood for humour tonight, though, so you shoot her an unamused glare and she grimaces at her lack of tact, mouthing “Sorry,” at you.

“You okay? You wanna talk about it?” asks Wanda, sitting up and slinging her arm over your shoulder, “I would offer you pizza, but as you can see,” she gestures towards the empty box sitting on the coffee table, “It’s all gone,”.

You smile wryly and pat her thigh. “Nah, I’m good,”, you murmur, hoping to avoid getting dragged into a full-blown interrogation session with these two. After the events of today, you don’t think you have the inner strength to sit through one.

“You’re good as in…you’re  _good_ , or you’re good, you don’t want pizza?” Peggy asks, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms imperiously, because she’s known you long enough to know exactly what you say when you’re trying to skirt around an issue.

“The second one,” you sigh, conceding that she’s got you cornered. You know it’ll be easier to admit defeat.

“So you’re not good? What’s up, sweetie?” Wanda murmurs, immediately going all protective on you. “Upset about Loki?”

“Actually, no,” you reply. The conviction and clarity in your voice leaves them taken aback — in fact, you’re a little surprised yourself. But, as you turn over your answer in your head, you realise how true it really is. You’re  _not_ upset about Loki cheating on you. Well, not really. Sure, you’re pride’s been bruised, but it’s not torn to pieces, or anything. What you had with him was never going to be permanent, you knew that in your heart of hearts. If anything, you’re glad that it’s over.

Peggy seems to sense your weird mood. “You don’t  _seem_  too shaken up,” she says slowly, furrowing her brow as she appraises you.

“I—I  _am_  a little shaken up, but it’s not because of Loki,” you confess.

“What is it, then?” asks Wanda, a truly confused expression on her face.

“I—,” you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, “It’s a long story,”.

“Well, I’ve got no problem with you turning our wild Friday night into story time,” says Wanda, “You okay with that, Pegs?”

“I  _am_  rather curious to find out what’s up with Y/N,” she agrees.

You groan and bury your head in your hands. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” you tell them, voice coming out slightly muffled.

“Avoidance is not healthy, Y/N, you shouldn’t bottle up your emotions,” Peggy says, putting on the solemn voice she uses when you’re getting a talking-to.

You uncover your left eye and glare at her. “I should never have given you that line,” you mutter.

“You’re a therapist, Y/N! You know it’s—,”.

“Peggy!” you interrupt sharply, “Please, I—not tonight, alright? I’ve had a really long day and I just want to sleep,”.

“Okay honey,” Wanda soothes, gently rubbing her hand in wide, circular motions on your back, “Not tonight. But sometime?”

“But sometime,” you agree, nodding your head weakly.

“D’you wanna at least…tell us something? Put us out of our misery? I’m dying to know what’s got you so worked up,” Peggy pleads, half out of personal curiosity and half out of genuine concern for your wellbeing.

You draw your bottom lip between your teeth and chew at it for a bit before replying. “I—I’ve been thinking about… _them_ , and, specifically  _him_  a lot today. Well, mostly this evening. And—I don’t know. I’ve just been really reflective about things, tonight,”.

You sense Wanda and Peggy sharing a ‘look’, silently communicating above your head. You’re grateful that they don’t have to ask who ‘they’ are or who ‘he’ is. You’re not sure that you could keep it together if you had to say his name out loud.

“Okay, we’ll talk about it in the morning,” Wanda says softly.

“Whatever it is, you’ll get through this, Y/N. After what Barnes did to you, I think your heart can cope with anything,” Peggy assures you.

The three of you wince at the mention of his name.

“Yeah,” you murmur, moving to stand up, “Nothing can be as bad as losing him,”.

—————————————————

You remember stumbling into the empty apartment after going to see Pepper. Happy had dropped you and your things off with a stoic expression on his face, going through the motions with meticulous efficiency. You walked around in a daze as he brought your things in, flicking on light switches as you went, feeling like the darkness was trapping you in. You noted the changes that Wanda and Peggy had made since your last visit, like the new blue curtains and the fluffy pink sofa cushions. For the last two years, you’d been primarily living at the compound, as per your contract, only visiting the girls every now and then to catch up.

You’d been grateful to at last be on your own, after spending a whole afternoon forcing yourself to hold it together in front of people you once thought of as friends. Alone with your thoughts, you finally allowed the dam to burst and the emotions to overwhelm you, collapsing in a heap on the living room rug as you sobbed your heart out.

Wanda had come home first. She’d nearly had a heart attack when she found you sniffling on the floor, curled up into a tight little ball. Peggy had arrived not ten minutes later and together, she and Wanda coaxed you into your bed.

As Wanda fussed about with blankets and pillows, making a little fort for the three of you to huddle in, Peggy had brought in several bars of chocolate, a few bottles of water and three boxes of tissues — “One for each of us,” she’d said. Peggy sat on your right and Wanda squeezed in between your left side and the wall, nestled against you like a cat.

You had haltingly told the entire story to the girls, pausing every now and then then to descend into the bottommost pits of SorrowLandTM  whenever a fresh wave of grief came flooding through your system. They had listened patiently, not once making a smart-ass comment or interrupting you as you recalled the whirlwind of a day you’d just had.

Afterwards, a very incensed Peggy had declared that she would be going to visit Pepper herself and demand some sort of compensation for you, as this heartbreak was most certainly not part of your contract. Wanda had already begun plotting ways of getting back at Bucky — though  _how_ exactly she thought she might be able to outwit a supersoldier and highly trained assassin you had no idea. Miraculously, you managed to talk them both out of their crazed plans.

Losing Bucky was akin to losing a very close family member, and your mind and body grieved as such. In the days following your return, you spent most of your time in your room sobbing your eyes out. You were certain that you could fill an entire Olympic-sized swimming pool with the amount of liquid leaking out of your tear ducts. In a moment of hysteria, you remember wondering how your body hadn’t shrivelled up like a prune from all the fluids it had lost in such a short span of time.

It had been difficult for the two of them — you were normally the emotionally calm and reserved one of the group (being a renowned psychiatrist specialising in victims of war does that to you, you suppose), and neither person had ever seen you this upset. Peggy and Wanda had seen you through horrendous breakups before, but even those paled in comparison to your separation from Bucky. They didn’t know what to do with themselves, didn’t know how to break you out of your funk and in the end, just decided to let you burn it all out.

What differentiated this breakup from all the other ones you’d had was the fact that not only were you betrayed by your lover, you were let down by a whole  _team_  of people you used to depend on. When you lost Bucky, you lost them all. Two years of your life, billions of priceless memories and shared moments — all tainted because of one encounter. You weren’t behaving as if you’d just lost  _one_  family member; your mind was reacting in the way it would if you’d lost your  _entire_  family, which, in a way, you had.

Bucky called you several times a day. He left you about a million messages. The day after you left, you remember being half-inclined to smash your phone against the wall, as it was buzzing almost non-stop. Sometimes you’d check your phone and see that you’d received missed calls from Steve, Sam, Tony, even Pepper, at one point — though whether it was  _actually_ those people calling you, or whether Bucky was just borrowing their phones, you never did find out.

When Peggy had gone and gotten you a new phone number, you nearly sobbed with relief.

 

> _Would’ve traded all for you, there for you  
>  _ _So tell me how to move on  
>  _ _Would’ve traded all for you, cared for you_

On the fourth day of your self-imposed bedrest and grieving period, you were, without a doubt, at the lowest point in your life. You felt dead on the inside, utterly hollow and devoid of emotion. You were sick of crying, fed up with feeling like you were barely alive. You were burned out, a shell of the person you used to be. You hadn’t eaten a solid meal in almost 24 hours, yet no hunger pains plagued you.

You’re lying in your bed in a state of half-sleep when the door creaks open. Your head is buried under the blankets, so you don’t immediately see who it is; you assume it’s Peggy or Wanda coming in to check on you before they head off to work. The bed dips as someone perches on the edge. A hand gently tugs the blanket off your head.

Disoriented by the slivers of light spilling in through your curtains, you have to blink your eyes several times before your pupils get accustomed to the brightness. You stare blearily at the person sitting on your bed and, in your drowsy state, it takes you a while to make out their facial features, let alone get your brain functioning enough to recognise who they are.

“Jane?” you ask. You immediately wince; you sound like a frog, your voice croaky from disuse. You honestly can’t believe that it’s her — your little sister has  _actually_  taken time away from her precious research and flown all the way from New Mexico to see you. If your eyes weren’t already sick of crying, you’d surely be shedding a few tears.

Jane smiles and smoothes a hand over your head. “Yeah, sis, it’s me,” she murmurs, “Scoot over, will you? Your fat ass is taking up the whole bed,”.

With some difficulty, you manage to extricate yourself from the multitude of blankets wrapped around your limbs. Together, you and Jane rearrange your nest of blankets, creating enough space for her to burrow in next to you. You press your back against the wall and Jane kicks off her shoes so that she can crawl in. The two of you lie on your sides, facing each other.

“Sorry,” you snuffle, wiping your snotty nose on the edge of your sleeve, “I look like shit,”.

She chuckles softly, then reaches out to tenderly tuck the strands of hair clinging to your damp cheeks over your ear. “Yeah, well, what’s new, eh?” she whispers, “You think you look like shit, I think you look beautiful. A little busted up, but beautiful nonetheless,”.

“I  _feel_  busted up,” you mumble.

Jane doesn’t say anything, just closes her eyes and waits patiently for you to continue. She knows you’ll tell her when you’re ready. She tucks one arm under her head.

“Where did I go wrong, Janie?” you whisper, your voice coming out wrecked and broken, “I—I tried, so  _hard_. I wanted to make it work so  _bad_ —I—,”.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” she soothes, shuffling closer and slinging one arm around your ribs, so that you’re pressed chest to chest. “It’s not your fault,” she whispers fiercely, “Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control,”.

“B-but…why would he do it if I didn’t do something wrong?” you ask thickly. Against the odds, a new wave of tears threatens to spill from your eyes. You brush the back of your hand over them impatiently, utterly fed up of feeling so broken and exhausted.

Jane sighs. “I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe—maybe he changed. You said so yourself, right? Bucky at the start of your relationship was different to who he was at the end. Maybe—his preferences changed too,”.

Over the past couple of days, you’d come to a similar conclusion, but hearing it from someone else seemed to placate your raging emotions, somehow. “Did he have to…y’know, break my heart like that?” you ask weakly.

“I don’t have all the answers, Y/N,” she says apologetically, shaking her head.

You snort, bemused. “Don’t astrophysicists have  _all_  the answers?” you tease.

Jane giggles, pleased to have gotten you in better spirits. “We  _do_  have all the answers, hiding out there, somewhere — that doesn’t mean we’ve found them all, though,”.

A moment of companionable silence passes. You scoot down the bed and rest your head on her chest. Listening to the steady thud of her heartbeat and feeling the gentle rise and fall of her ribs lulls you into a more peaceful state. You’re a little bit sleepy, but the cogs and gears are grinding in the back of your mind, trying to piece together the words and phrases you need to say, the stuff you need to ventilate.

“It’s just—things are different, this time,” you say quietly, running your finger over the design on her shirt.

She stays silent, letting you amble along your train of thoughts at your own pace. You chew at your bottom lip, wondering how best to phrase this.

“I couldn’t keep working there…anyway,” you tell her, “I—a professor at uni once told me that you can either be someone’s therapist, or you can be their friend, but you can’t be both. And it was pretty clear that I was becoming a friend, or more than a friend to everyone there,”.

You swallow nervously. You’ve never really voiced these thoughts aloud before, not even to him. “I…I was willing to give this up, y’know?”. You make vague, circular hand gestures as you figure out how to elaborate, “This—this therapy gig, yeah? I was willing to stop. I would’ve found something else to do with my time, maybe, work in the compound another way, but—I wanted to stay,”.

Jane rubs her hand up and down your back. “You really  _were_  in love, weren’t you?” she says quietly, “Loved him enough to throw away everything you ever worked for,”. You knew she didn’t quite get it. Though the two of you were sisters, Jane’s bond to her research was quite unlike yours. You’re certain that if she could, she would marry her work. She barely had any experience with long-term relationships, and so you weren’t quite sure why you were trusting  _her_ , of all people, to give you advice — but Jane was Jane, and she had a tendency to be right about these things.

You sigh, choosing your words carefully, to make her understand. “I was willing to trade it  _all_  for him, Janie. Everything I’d built for myself, my reputation, my skills — all of it. Just so I could stay with him,”. You hesitate, “Not because I loved it any less, but I knew that it would be too difficult to have them both, and he gave me all the satisfaction I got from doing my work and more,”.

She snorts in a very unladylike manner. “I should hope so,” she scoffs.

It takes you a while to get the joke, but when you do, you smack her shoulder forcefully. “Not like  _that_ ,” you hiss.

“Okay, okay, I know what you mean,” Jane laughs. When she’s calmed down, she presses her cheek to the top of your head, “Why wouldn’t you be able to have both?” she asks.

“Well, I couldn’t have been  _their_  therapist any longer, and the hours I’d need to put in in order to run a functioning clinic would have been enormous,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be spending as much time at the compound and, seeing as I would be giving up my work to have more time with him, that seemed pretty pointless,”.

“Maybe you could’ve found a way to make it work,” Jane says, and from her tone you can tell that she’s already trying to come up with solutions, working out possibilities. “Just because the path isn’t clear, or the road is an uphill struggle, doesn’t mean that it’s not feasible. If you love two things, you should be able to have them both,”.

“Just drop it, Jane,” you sigh, not wanting to dwell on what-ifs and burden yourself with maybes. Already, you’re feeling the sadness welling up inside you from the brief discussion you’ve just had. You shrug, trying to brush those thoughts away with some indifference, “Guess I’ll never get to find out, huh?”.

“Guess not,” she echoes quietly. Another silence, then, with her voice so soft you almost don’t catch it, she says, “You did nothing wrong, you know that right?”.

“Yeah,” you mumble, even though you don’t quite believe it yourself. If she notices the lack of conviction in your tone, Jane doesn’t comment.

Something is still weighing on your chest and you decide that now is as good a time as ever to let it out. “I was there for him,” you tell her, “I was there for  _him_ , just him, y’know? I wasn’t…trying to make him who he used to be, wasn’t trying to make him anything he didn’t want to be, I was—I just—,”.

You cut yourself off as you feel a wave of panic rushing up your throat. You take a deep, shuddery breath in an attempt to calm your nerves, “I think everyone on the team had their own personal agenda when it came to helping Bucky. They were helping him, but ultimately, they were helping themselves, in some way,”.

“Even Steve?” she asks quietly.

You nod, albeit a little reluctantly. “Yeah. I think he kinda hoped that I could get him back to the Bucky he used to be,”.

“And you’re upset about that?”. There’s a confused undertone to her voice.

“No! Well, actually, yes, but that’s not the main point. The main point is that I—I didn’t!”. You laugh breathlessly, feeling somewhat delirious from lack of sleep. The fatigue seems to finally be catching up on you. “I didn’t have an ulterior motive. All I wanted was to make things better for him, to help him accept the person he’d been made into. I was there for  _him_  as he had become; the Winter Soldier  _and_ Bucky Barnes,”.

“He’s an idiot,” Jane mutters darkly.

You laugh, despite yourself. “I think I might’ve been the only person to really understand that you needed to accept him as an all-inclusive package, y’know? I mean, Steve kinda got there, in the end, but—but for a long time, the only person Bucky could talk to, about anything and everything, without fear of judgement, was me,”.

Jane makes a little noise of understanding, like she’s mulling over what you’ve just said. “And so…” she prompts, encouraging you to round things off.

“I guess…maybe this is selfish of me, but I just want him to think about everything I did for him,”, you sigh, “If he replaced me  _that_  easily, I just don’t think he appreciates, or appreciated me as much as I thought he did,”. The confession makes you feel lighter, as if you’ve shed some of the weight that’s been bearing down on you for the past few days.

“So what’re you gonna do about it? You gonna talk to him?” Jane asks.

You groan resignedly, “I don’t know how to move on, Jane. I—yeah, I’ve had breakups before, but never like this. So—maybe sometime I’ll see him. But I can’t face him right now,”

“But you will?” she prods, “Closure might do you some good. It’s unhealthy to hold onto the past too much, y’know?”

You arch one eyebrow and tip your head back to look at her. “Anyone ever told you that you should be a therapist?”

“I did learn from the best,” she jokes, poking you in the ribs. You stick your tongue out at her. She scrunches her nose at you and flicks your forehead.

“Go to sleep,” Jane whispers, after she sees you trying to hide a yawn, “You look like you need it,”.

“‘M not tired,” you mutter, even as you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle another one.  

“Uh-huh, sure,” she says, rolling to face the other way so that her back is pressed against your chest. She takes your arm and drapes it around her waist, “If you’re not gonna sleep, I will. By my body clock, it’s still 5AM and I should be knocked out,”.

Your eyes are already beginning to slide shut as you press your cheek to the space between her shoulder blades, inhaling Jane’s comforting vanilla scent. “G’night Jane,” you murmur, “Thank you,”.

—————————————————

After assuring Wanda and Peggy that you’re completely fine after your breakup with Loki and promising (multiple times) that you would tell them everything else in the morning, you retire to your room to get some rest. The events of the day have finally caught up with you, and the cumulative emotional toll is making you feel utterly spent, both physically and mentally. You strip off your work clothes, dumping them into the laundry basket in the corner of your room, before crawling into bed in just your underwear.

You set an alarm for 6AM, mentally cursing yourself for agreeing to meet with a patient so early in the morning on a goddamn  _Saturday_ , of all days.

In your exhausted state, sleep comes blessedly easily. As your eyelids begin to droop, your last dregs of your consciousness sadly notes that your current situation is nothing new to you. Freshly broken heart, moping over your failed relationship and wallowing in self-pity as you analyse your frankly depressing dating history. It seems that you have a knack for picking boyfriends cut from the same material.

As always, the last thought you have before drifting off to sleep is of Bucky. Tonight, it’s the way his eyes had shone with unshed tears when you said “I love you” to him before he left on that mission.

Now, if you were to see him again, you’re not sure whether or not you would change it to ‘loved’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	6. Face to face with someone new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you’re betrayed in the worst way possible, by the people you least expect it from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get to find out the shit that went down!!! I was so excited to write this, but in all seriousness…man _I_ was traumatised afterwards. Brace yourselves.

 

##  **~ Face to face with someone new ~**

The hallway seems to stretch endlessly in either direction. Nondescript black doors are evenly spaced along both walls. The only sources of light in the otherwise darkened corridor are the bare bulbs dangling from skinny wires attached to the ceiling; they paint sickly yellow circles on the floor. If you squint your eyes, you can make out a darkened silhouette in the distance. You decide to head towards it.

An undeniable sense of apprehension pools like molten lava in your gut as you take your first few steps. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach, a leaden weight making your movements sluggish. Your legs are paralysed from the fear. Strangely enough, you feel like you recognise this hallway. Your mind seems to associate it with bad memories, but that can’t be — you’ve never seen it in your life. Despite the crippling anxiety crawling up your spine like a hoard of spiders, you force yourself to put one foot in front of the other, shuffling your way to the figure in the distance.

As you draw nearer, you realise that it’s a man, a tall one at that. You cock your head to the side. That person looks familiar, it couldn’t possibly be—

“Y/N!” the person calls, “I was wondering when you’d show up!”. You bite back a gasp when he steps into the light.

“Steve?” you ask in disbelief, “Where are we?”

Steve smiles benignly at you, taking your hand in his large one and leading you further down. You go along easily. “Doesn’t matter where we are, we’re just gonna go to that door at the end there,” he tells you, gesturing ahead. You narrow your eyes, and are just about able to see the door at the end of the corridor. How did you not see it before?

“Why’re we going there?” you ask, turning to look up at him.

“You’ve got a surprise waiting for you,” he says cryptically. Steve shifts his hand to grip your elbow, tugging you along, “C’mon, let’s go, we don’t wanna miss it,” he urges.

“A surprise?” you repeat, utterly mystified. You’re being dragged along beside him, nearly tumbling over as your legs struggle to keep up with his long stride. “Steve, I don’t get it, what surprise?”

He sighs heavily through his nose, “It’ll all be clear when we get there, Y/N. Now, let’s go,” he says, yanking you along harshly.

“Hey!” you protest, “Steve, not so rough!”. You don’t like this one bit. The sinking feeling in your stomach has intensified and spread to other parts of your body. Terror grips your heart in its talons, squeezing on the muscle and making it beat at an accelerated pace. Short, desperate pants escape your mouth, as it’s getting harder for you to breathe. Waves of anxiety roll through your system.

As the door nears, you start to lose it. Something inside you is  _shrieking_  its objection, adamant that you should not go inside there. Panic claws at the back of your throat like a caged animal itching to be set free.

“Steve,” you whisper hoarsely, staring at the door. The nausea inside you escalates the closer you get to it. “Steve,” you say, louder and more insistently this time. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s heard you. “Steve,  _stop_ ,” you plead, trying to twist your arm out of his grip. It’s a futile effort; you’re no match for his supersoldier strength.

“What is it, Y/N?” Steve asks finally, glancing down to look at you.

“I don’t want to go in there,” you say, voice wavering a little, betraying your terror. You realise that you sound a little like a spoilt four-year-old, but you don’t care.

Steve laughs and your heart stops because it’s not  _his_ laugh. It’s menacing and wicked, cruel, almost. Steve Rogers has never been cruel — you don’t even think he has the capacity for it. “Don’t be silly,” he chides, “What’re you so scared of?”

“Steve, please, I don’t want to go,” you beg, stopping dead in your tracks and putting all of your weight in your feet. You try to dig your heels into the ground, hoping to force his brusque march to a halt. Your efforts practically have no effect, as he’s so much stronger than you.

“Y/N, come  _on_ ,” he growls, practically having to drag you along, now. It’s clear that he’s getting impatient; you can see it in the set of his shoulders and the grim line of his jaw. You’re so confused — what on earth could be making him this moody?

You’re nearly shocked out of your skin when, out of nowhere, Tony appears on your other side. Where had he come from? As far as you’d seen, there were no adjoining hallways, and you hadn’t heard a door being opened. Despite the myriad of questions floating through your head, a wave of relief washes over you.

“What’s up sunshine?” he says jovially, taking your other hand and threading it around his elbow.

“Tony, I don’t want to go in there,” you say urgently, jerking your chin towards the door at the end of the hallway, “But Steve’s making me,”. On your other side, Steve snorts indignantly.

Tony’s brow furrows. “Why don’t you want to go?” he asks, obviously confused.

“I don’t know!” you cry exasperatedly, “I just—don’t have a good feeling, okay?”

“Don’t you want to see what the surprise is?” he asks, looking more than a little wounded, “I helped plan it myself, y’know?”

“No,” you say shortly, your patience starting to fray as a result of the nerves, “No, I don’t want to know what it is,”.

“Y/N, you’re overreacting,” Tony says, patting your arm in what you assume is supposed to be a placating manner.

“I don’t care,” you snap. “Steve, let me go!”. Again, you try to twist your arm out of his grip, but he only tightens his fingers around you.

“No,” Steve says viciously, “Let’s go, Y/N,”. You whimper, wanting to cower from the barely-concealed threat in his tone.

Steve jerks you forward and you hiss in pain when his nails dig into your skin, “Steve,  _stop_ , you’re hurting me,”.

A sickening realisation is dawning on you: this isn’t Steve. Steve Rogers would never,  _ever_  hurt you. He’d never force you. It’s apparent that something’s wrong — so very,  _very_  wrong. Panic rises up your throat like scorching lava, making your mouth feel dry and parched. The nausea — momentarily tamed when Tony showed up — comes back at full force. You want to scream and kick and lash out, but know that you have no chance against Steve, let alone against the two of them at the same time. Anxiety simmers in your stomach; terror bubbles in your gut.

“Will you at least tell me what the surprise is?” you ask timidly

“But if we tell you, we’ll ruin the surprise!” says Tony exasperatedly, “What is it with people and not liking surprises? I love them, why can’t everyone else?”

You’re about five feet away from the door now, and the terror coils itself around your heart like a vice. The edges of your vision are turning black and you think you’re about to pass out.

“I don’t want to go in!” you scream hysterically, hot tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Out of desperation, you wriggle your arms as hard as you can, trying to shake off Tony and Steve’s hands, but it seems that your actions only make them tighten their grip. You’re about  _this_ close to biting them, or something, in an attempt to break free when—

“Who doesn’t want to go in?” rumbles a deep voice from behind you.

You whip your head around and almost sob in relief when you see who it is. “Sam!” you cry, “Sam, please, I don’t want to go inside there, please don’t make me go inside there,”. You’re outright begging now, but you don’t give a fuck about that. All you want is to get well clear of this hallway,  _right now_.

“Okay, okay,” Sam soothes, coming up behind you and placing a hand at the small of your back. His neutral gaze travels between you, Steve and Tony, assessing the situation before he addresses you directly. “What’s up? What’s wrong? Why don’t you want to go inside?” he asks calmly.

You shake your head as a fat tear rolls down your cheek. “I don’t know,” you blubber, “I’ve just got a bad feeling about it,”.

“Bad?” he echoes, “What kind of bad?”

“Like it’s not a good surprise. Like something not good’s on the other side,” you sob. You realise that Tony’s loosened his grip on your left arm and manage to wrench it away from him. You clutch Sam’s hand, “Please don’t make me go in there, Sam,” you say, not caring in the slightest if your voice comes out sounding a little maniacal, “Don’t let them take me in there,”.

“Okay, okay,” Sam murmurs, stroking the back of his hand over your cheek, “No one’s gonna make you go in there if you don’t want to, honey,”.

“Thank you,” you sigh, relieved. He smiles at you, but it looks a little forced, and doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Sam glares pointedly at Steve and Tony. “I think we need to tell her,” he says quietly.

“But that ruins the surprise!” Tony groans, “You peasants  _clearly_ need a lesson in non-combat related surprises,”.

“Shut it, Stark,” Sam snaps impatiently. You frown. That doesn’t seem like something Sam would say, even if his temper  _was_  running short.

“Tony, there’s not going to  _be_  a surprise if Y/N doesn’t go in there,” Steve sighs, “We  _have_  to tell her,”.

“Tell me what?” you ask, a little afraid of what the answer might be.

Steve looks at you, “Bucky’s waiting for you inside there. He’s…well, he’s got something he wants to ask you,”.

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Ask me? Why can’t he just do it normally? Y’know, in the lounge, or whatever? Why does it have to be in this creepy-ass place?”

“It’s a special kind of question, Y/N,” Sam mutters, purposefully being vague. The four of you begin to slowly walk the last few steps to the door, Steve and Tony flanking you, Sam at your back. Because you have no where else to go, you reluctantly go along with them.

“Why can’t he ask me out here?” you whine.

“Because he’s got it all set up inside there, Y/N,” Tony explains, “All nice and fancy, too, certified by yours truly,”.

You sigh resignedly. “Okay, fine,” you mutter, “I’ll go in,”. It’s going against every instinct you have. Every muscle, every  _fibre_  of your being is telling you to run as fast as you fucking can in the other direction, but you admit that you’re a little curious now, too. What could Bucky possibly want? Your little group is right in front of the door, now. On closer inspection, it looks like any other door you’ve passed on your journey down the hallway. Nothing remarkable about it. Your panic begins to subside — what were you scared of in the first place? You chalk it up to your mind acting irrationally in an unfamiliar setting.  

Tony and Steve release you. “You go ahead, Y/N,” says Steve, “We’ll leave you guys in peace,”.

“But we’ll be right out here if you need us,” Sam adds.

You nod at him gratefully, then take a deep breath as you turn to face the door. You step towards it and place your hand on the handle. Just as you’re about to turn it, you hear a low moan coming from the other side, as if someone’s in pain.

You whirl around to Steve, “Did you hear that?” you ask sharply.

He cocks his head to the side, tilting his ear to the door. “Hear what?”.

You hesitate. Maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe it was just the ventilation systems, or the air echoing funny in this hallway. If Steve didn’t catch the sound with his enhanced hearing, then perhaps you didn’t hear anything, after all.

You push the door open.

The room is in complete darkness, and it takes some time for your eyes to adjust. Behind you, the door automatically swings shut. An uneasy weight settles low in your belly, fear gnawing away at your insides. Your heart is hammering against your ribs and your pulse roars in your ears. Every molecule is  _screaming_  at you to get the fuck out of there, but you force yourself to swallow and call, “Bucky?”.

“In here, doll,” Bucky replies, from somewhere in front of you.

“C-can you turn on the lights?” you ask, hating how needy and terrified you sound.

“Not yet, sweetheart. Just follow the sound of my voice and you’ll be fine,” he tells you.

You take a shaky breath, “O-okay,”, you say shakily, cautiously placing one foot in front of the other, hands outstretched in front of you so you don’t crash into anything.  

“Bucky? You gotta keep talking to me, love,” you plead.

You hear him growl, “ _Fuck_ , yes, Natasha, that’s good,”.

Your heart leaps into your throat. The weight in your belly grows heavier. “I—w-what?”, you stutter, as you take another tentative step forward. “Buck? What’s going on?”

The lights come on just then, blinding you with their pure white intensity. You stumble backwards and throw your arms in front of your face to shield yourself from the worst of the glare. You’re disoriented, and have to blink several times to allow your eyes to readjust. Once you can open them without having to squint, you lower your arms.

You want to throw up.

“Hello, Y/N,” Natasha purrs, her head thrown back against the arm of a plush armchair, “So nice of you to join us,”.

You squeeze your eyes shut and slowly count to three, willing yourself to wake up. When you open them again, the sight is the same. You can’t believe your eyes. You stare at them in utter shock. Natasha — your  _friend_  — is slouching in a pink armchair, completely naked. An equally nude Bucky is kneeling between her legs, face buried in her sex. If you had any doubts as to what he was doing there, the lewd squelching and slurping noises he’s making help answer all your questions. Her elegant, perfectly manicured fingers are tangled through his dark hair, tugging at it idly as he lavishes his tongue and lips over her pussy.

“ _Yes_ , Barnes, god, that’s good,” she sighs, eyes fluttering shut as she arches her back in rapturous pleasure. She tosses her head back and moans breathily, baring the elegant column of her neck. Nat’s free hand is rolling and pinching one of her nipples.

It takes all of your energy to force your mouth to speak. “What’s going on, here?” you ask, proud that your voice comes out calm and collected.

Bucky rips his head away from her sex, but presses his metal thumb to her clit, rubbing it in harsh circles. Nat moans wantonly, spreading her legs further to give him better access. He turns to you, mouth curling into that lopsided smirk that you love so much, except it’s  _wrong_ , so wrong, when you know whose juices are glistening on the lower portion of his face.

“Surprise,” Bucky says, sweeping his flesh hand around in a dramatic arc, “What d’you think?”

“Bucky, what the hell?” you whisper, brain not comprehending the situation  _at all_.

His face sobers and he nods solemnly, sensing your confusion. “I got a question to ask you, doll,” he says, “Y/N Foster, will you marry me?”

You stare at him in stunned silence, not entirely sure whether this is a joke or not. “No!” you shout, panic making your voice hysterical, “Fuck no! Bucky I—No! Never, what—what is this?”

He looks crestfallen, eyes welling with tears as his hands falls away from Natasha’s pussy. She blinks her eyes open and looks at him sympathetically. “Oh Bucky,” she coos, sliding down and tenderly cupping his jaw with her hand. Bucky turns his head to place a kiss on her inner wrist. “If Y/N won’t have you, I will,”, she tells him, a demure smile playing at the corner of her lips.

With your body paralysed in shock, you watch helplessly as she takes Bucky’s engorged cock in hand, gently fisting his shaft. Natasha tips her head back and he slots his plump lips over hers, kissing her with a fierce passion. You’re appalled, turning away in disgust when you hear him groaning heatedly into her mouth, obviously finding pleasure in her touch. Totally horrified by this unexpected turn of events, you’re about to storm away when someone appears behind you, their pale, slender arms wrapping around your waist.

“Gorgeous together, aren’t they?” the person whispers. You crane you neck around and your eyes widen in astonishment. Really, how many more surprises can you take in one day?

“Loki?” you ask incredulously, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Watching,” he breathes, eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he dreamily gazes upon whatever it is Bucky and Nat are doing. You wince when you hear her gasp passionately. “Look,” Loki murmurs, grabbing your chin and forcing your head to turn, “Watch them together,”.

You let out a choked-off cry of despair when you see that Bucky’s got her on all fours, mismatched hands gripping her delicate waist as he slams into her from behind. They’re oblivious to the two of you, wholly consumed by their own pleasure. “They’re perfect for each other, no?” Loki says quietly, breath tickling the shell of your ear.

With an anguished sob, you rip your way free of his grasp and make a dash for the door. The impassioned sounds that Bucky and Natasha make seem to grow louder the further away you get, echoing around the walls of the room.

To your dismay, the door is locked. In desperation, you turn, twist and yank on the handle every which way and slam your palms against the wood, hoping to get someone’s attention.“Help!” you scream hoarsely, banging your fists frantically, “Steve? Sam? Tony?  _Please,_ let me out!”. Tears are streaming freely down your cheeks.

You nearly fall flat on your face when the door swings outward. Steve appears in your line of vision and you let out a whimper of relief. Behind him, you can make out the shadowed figures of Tony and Sam. “Y/N?” Steve asks, concerned, “What’s wrong?”

Unable to put what you’ve just seen in words and not wholly trusting your voice right now, you settle on just shaking your head. The exultant cries that Bucky and Natasha are making ring in your ears. Steve’s huge bulk blocks the entire doorway and you can’t step around it. “Steve just  _move_ ,” you hiss, trying to shove him aside, “I—I need to leave,  _please_ ,”.

“I can’t let you do that, Y/N,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and levelling an unimpressed gaze at you. Your heart sinks. “You need to stay in here, until Bucky’s done,” he continues, “You guys need to have a conversation, I think?”

Incensed, you crack your hand over his cheek. It’s probably nothing to him, what with his superhuman strength and all, but at least he has the decency to blush. You wince as the sting burns your palm, “Steve,” you growl, “Move aside,”.

Steve looks you dead in the eye then, and your heart freezes over. Those aren’t Steve’s eyes. These eye are completely black — dark and cold and calculating, somehow devoid of all emotion. The panic inside you boils over and your entire body quivers with fear. “No, Y/N,” Steve snarls, “You need to see your friendship with us for what it really is,”.

You come awake with a jolt, scrambling to sit upright. Your pulse is roaring in your ears. The sheets are tangled around your legs, and a thin veil of nervous sweat clings to your skin. The room is spinning, and there is a sickening feeling rising in the back of your throat. You clamp a hand over your mouth, stumble your way to the bathroom and collapse to your knees by the toilet. You manage to make it just before you start hurling what little you have in your stomach. Slumped over the bowl, your weak body heaves and retches dryly, before you finally sprawl out on the tiled floor, utterly exhausted.

With a weak groan, you force yourself to crawl to the sink so that you can wash the bitter aftertaste out of your mouth. You splash cold water on your face, then run your towel over your naked skin to wipe off the sheen of sweat stuck to you.

A glance at the digital alarm clock that you keep by your bedside table tells you that it 3:12AM. You’re feeling wide awake now; you know that you won’t be going back to sleep after a nightmare like  _that._ Those kinds of dreams used to haunt you nightly in the weeks after your separation from Bucky. Once you and Loki started going out on the regular, things had calmed down and you went back to having a solid, uninterrupted seven hours every night. You hadn’t had a nightmare this bad in a long time.

You sink down on the edge of your bed, head held in your hands. You’re powerless to stop the images from coming — it’s like the lock on the safe you normally store them in has broken. The memories rush through your hyper-aware mind, clear as day, images burnished into your brain during a time of trauma.

—————————————

“Dr Foster?”

“Yes, JARVIS?” you reply, looking up from your laptop.

“I wish to inform you that Sergeant Barnes and Agent Romanoff have returned,” the AI tells you.

A smile graces you lips. “Wonderful, JARVIS, where’s Bucky?”

“He’s in the hangar, ma’am,”

“Thank you, JARVIS, I’ll make my way there now,”. You set your laptop aside and flick off the lights in your office as you leave the room.

Bucky and Nat had been away on a three-week long mission. You didn’t know much about the particulars, but you were aware that it had something to do with them going undercover in order to infiltrate the inner rings of some criminal organisation or other. You were fairly certain that it was something to do with weapons trafficking. Since you weren’t technically a member of the team, you were not privy to the finer details of Avengers missions, and you never knew whether to be glad or upset about that fact.

For fear that their calls were being monitored, Bucky had been unable to contact you directly for the entire time that he was away. You knew that Nat had been giving Steve updates as regularly as possible, so you were at least comforted by the knowledge that the two of them were alive and well. That didn’t change the fact that you missed him terribly, though.

As you jog over to the aircraft hangar, you pass by a store cupboard and catch the tail-end of someone’s groan. You pause mid-step, wondering if you should go in there and help. Another, breathier moan reaches your ears, and suddenly what’s going on in there becomes painfully clear. You chuckle to yourself, wondering which member of the staff at the compound has decided to get it on in a janitor’s closet.

Your heart skips a beat when you hear an unmistakable growl. Your throat feels uncharacteristically scratchy and you swallow nervously. You pray to the heavens above that your mind is just imagining things. But, when the growl comes again, more possessive this time, you know that you’re not mistaken. You’re intimately familiar with that noise — you’ve heard it hundreds of times whilst rolling amongst the sheets with your lover. He’s made that sound with his lips pressed to your ear, from across the room as he takes in your outfit, when he’s hovering above you and fucking you into the mattress, in addition to countless other situations. Normally, that growl makes you weak in the knees and sends a flood of arousal to your loins.

Now, it only serves to make your insides turn cold.

Against your will, your feet begin to carry you to the door. You press your ear to it, hoping to listen in and get a better understanding of what’s going on on the other side. He’s not alone in there; you hear his low grunts being overlaid by a woman’s quieter moans.

“ _Oh fuck_ , yes Barnes…god that’s good,” she pants. You bite back a gasp, because you know exactly who that voice belongs to. You swallow and scrunch your eyes shut, willing the sudden onset of nausea to go away. Throwing up in the middle of the hallway is  _not_  a good look.

“ _Yes_ , Natalia…fuck yeah,” Bucky grunts. He confirms your suspicions and you feel your heart shatter into a million microscopic pieces. Bile burns the back of your throat and leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Ohhhh s-shit,  _doll_ ,” Bucky moans.

Doll. That’s what he calls  _you_. Of all the pet names he uses, that one has always been your favourite. You always thought that he reserved it  _specially_  for you.

It’s the last straw. Fighting back the growing urge to hurl, you turn the knob and push the door open. A distant part of your mind wonders why they had forgotten to lock it. Too consumed by their lust, you assume.

The sight that greets you will forever be burned into your memory. It would come back to haunt your nightmares in the weeks to come.

A distinctive flash of red hair is the first thing you see. Bucky has Nat up against the shelves, her suit stripped off and left in a pile on the floor. Her slender, shapely legs — so much more toned than yours could ever hope to be, you note miserably — are hitched around his waist. Bucky’s gotten rid of his tactical jacket, but his uniform is otherwise intact. Nat’s eyes are squeezed shut, her head thrown back in ecstasy as Bucky presses his lips to her throat. Scarlet tendrils cling to her temples. You wonder how she manages to look so beautiful, despite being in such a state of disarray.

You want to be sick.

They don’t immediately hear you, engrossed as they are in each other. Nat cracks open one eye, then freezes. “Barnes,” she hisses frantically, shoving him away from her as she tries to  disentangle her arms and legs from his body.

You begin retreating backwards, wishing you hadn’t come in, wishing you hadn’t opened the goddamned door, wishing you could just unsee everything.

This hurt more than all your other heartbreaks combined.  

Something in Nat’s tone makes Bucky look over his shoulder. When he catches sight of you, his eyes widen and his jaw drops. He pulls away, turning to face you and you catch a glimpse of his cock, flushed red and glistening with her juices — undeniable proof of where it has just been. Your last sliver of hope shrivels to dust. If you had had any questions as to what they were doing together before, the state of him is all the evidence you need to erase your doubts. The sight is enough to send you sprinting down the hallway, turning a deaf ear on his pleas and protests.

They’re not protests, anyway, you tell yourself, as you stumble to the nearest elevator. Why would Bucky be protesting? What can he possibly have left to say? You saw enough; it’s apparent that your services are no longer required. Bucky doesn’t need you anymore.

Not when he’s face to face with someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	7. Tell me how to move on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can’t sleep, so you decide to get a few things off your chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this part to be very _real_ , so it’s been minimally edited - I pretty much just typed it out in one go and rolled with it. Apologies for any typos and sorry if it’s hard to follow, that’s kinda what I was going for. I nearly made myself cry a couple of times, there.

##  **~ Tell me how to move on ~**

You’re sprawled out on your bed, willing sleep to take you back into its clutches and give you a few more hours of numbing blankness. But, after  _that_  nightmare, your brain is far too wired, far too riled up for sleep to even be a possibility. In the darkness, your mind flits back and forth between your memories of that fateful day, and the exaggerated dream version of those events. You’re simultaneously wide awake and utterly exhausted — but it’s the kind of fatigue that sleep cannot cure, which only drains more of your energy. The combination of hyper-awareness and weariness is dizzying, causing nightmare and memory to overlap and mesh into each one another, distorting your perception of what is truth and what is a twisted concoction created by your overworked mind.

With a groan, you roll off your bed and slump onto the floor, dragging the blanket around your trembling shoulders as you curl into a tight ball. The room suddenly begins to feel overly constrictive, as if the walls are caving in on you. It’s too stuffy, the silence deafeningly loud — your senses are being overwhelmed by the still of night.

You need to get out.

You heave yourself up and stumble over to your dresser — tripping over the corner of your rug along the way — to pull out some clothes. Blindly, you root around in your drawers and grab the first things your fingers close around: a pair of jeans, and what feels like an oversized sweater. Your purse is by the foot of your bed, and from it, you grab your phone, keys and some cash that you stuff into your back pocket.

The dull red light of your alarm catches your eye as you’re about to leave your room. Its digital display tells you that it’s 3.56AM. You’re supposed to be heading to your clinic at 8 to squeeze in some work in before meeting with a patient. You already know that you’re probably not going to be performing at your best in that session.

The smell of rain is fresh in the air when you step outside, that clean, damp odour that does wonders to invigorate your spirits. Puddles litter the sidewalk, reflecting the city night lights, making them glimmer and sparkle prettily. You find it quite ironic that you’re in such peaceful surroundings, as they are a sharp contrast to the chaos roiling internally.

You walk with no direction or purpose in mind.

Remnants of your terrible dream still linger in your head, and though you try as hard as you can, you’re unable to shake them off. A few images in particular come back to taunt you, over and over again: the way way Bucky had smiled, so familiar yet strange; how perfect he had looked with Natasha’s legs slung over his shoulders, and the detached coldness in Steve’s eyes.These twisted images haunted you in your sleep and now they torment you whilst you’re awake. You can’t help but try to analyse what they all might mean, why your mind decided to conjure them up.

Though the nightmare was obviously a tad melodramatic, you see the parallels between it and reality. Everything you’d come to accept as truth, all the pillars of support you came to depend on had crumbled beneath you, the foundations they were built upon weakened by the lies fed to you by people you thought you could trust. The sense of betrayal, and the belief that everyone is against you leaves a sour aftertaste that you can’t get rid of.

There’s a park not too far from your apartment, and that seems to be where your feet are carrying you. It’s not particularly large, but there’s a bench in the shadows of an oak tree that for some reason, is especially nice to sit on. It’s your go-to place for when your mind is as restless as it is now. You try not to think about the fact that you used to take Bucky and Steve here on days out, sharing with them one of your favourite places in the world.

The bench is a bit damp from the rain, so you pull off your jacket and spread it out so that you can sit on it. You close your eyes and focus on breathing deeply, grounding yourself in the moment by listening intently to the bustle of the city around you; the distant wail of a siren, the yowling of alley cats, the various creaks and groans coming from the buildings around you. It’s a symphony that you’ve grown up listening to, and it never fails to put your nerves at ease.

But, though coming outside for a breath of fresh air has helped to take the edge off the pain inside you, you still feel as if there’s a weight pressing down on your chest. Your mind is in turmoil, because you have too many images, too many memories, too many disconnected thoughts floating around — it’s giving you a headache. You need to take part of it out, mentally unload in some way.

You reach into your back pocket and pull out your phone, deciding to take a page out of your own book. You often encourage your patients to keep a log of things they’d like to say to people.  _Who_ those people are doesn’t really matter — they could be ex-captors, estranged children, fallen comrades, or a whole range of others. Even if the intended recipient never gets to hear those words, the act of writing out the things they’d like to say does wonders for the tortured soul. You figure you have a few things to say to Bucky.

You bring up your notes app, settle back into the bench and begin typing. The words come to you with surprising ease. It’s as if you’ve been subconsciously blocking a river of words all this time and now, freed from your mental dam, they come pouring through.

—————————————————

Hey Bucky,

Okay, I’ll be honest, I got no idea what the fuck I’m doing here. You’re probably never even gonna read any of this, anyway, but it can’t hurt to say any of it to you, right? Well, not  _actually_  say it to you, but a girl can imagine, can’t she?

God, that’s off to a great start. I feel as lost as you probably did when I introduced you to the induction cooker in your room at the compound. Holy shit, your  _face_ , Bucky, when I told you that that was a stove. I’ll never not laugh at it. If I’m ever having a bad day, thinking about your expression then always brings a smile to my lips. I can best describe it as a mixture of absolute cluelessness, mild horror and a little bit of curiosity. Yeah, it was a weird mix of emotions. That’s kinda what I feel like right now — a jumbled ball that’s feeling too much.

I can’t sleep, Buck. It’s 4.12AM, I have a client to see in about five hours, and I’ve only slept for six— and you know what I’m like if I don’t get a solid seven. I can’t function as a human, let alone a professional therapist. Things aren’t looking too great right now.

Can I tell you about my day? You’re not here to answer that, so I’m gonna just assume you said something like “Of course, babydoll,”. Actually, I just realised — it was technically my  _yesterday_ , but I’m gonna tell you about it nonetheless.

It was a day sent to me straight from hell, courtesy of the Devil himself. Honestly, it was the weirdest string of events to happen, ever.

So first off, after work, I got this email from Christine Everhart. You remember her, right? She was that reporter you said you wanted to strangle with your metal hand after that press conference about Tokyo. I sympathise with your urges; the bitch wanted to talk to me about working with the Avengers. I mean, that in and of itself is not enough to piss me off, I guess, ‘cause curiosity is part of human nature, right? But god, the way she said it made me want to be sick, Bucky. I didn’t reply, obviously, but I wonder if it would damage my reputation so terribly if I just sent her a little ‘fuck you’.

Oh, and then Jane called me. I kinda forgot about that. I hadn’t properly talked to her in a while. She and Darcy invited me and the girls on a trip to Bali, can you believe it? If you know me well enough, you’ll know that I said no. Maybe I’ll change my mind later. A vacay on the beach does sound pretty much like what the doctor ordered, even if the doctor is myself. Can you give yourself orders?

You know what Jane asked me? She asked if I still love you. 

I told her ‘yes’. 

It’s confusing, Buck. I love you, but not in the same way I used to love you. Sometimes I wish the English language had more versions of the word ‘love’, because it’s way too ambiguous of a word. I say ‘I love you’ to Jane, but I don’t mean that I love her the same way I love Peggy, or Wanda, or you, y’know?

But, I digress. I was telling you about my day, no? So. After I got off work, I went over to Loki’s house. Who’s Loki, you ask? My new boyfriend. Actually, he’s technically my new ex-boyfriend, now (more on that later), but at the time, he was my boyfriend and I was heading to his house.

Are you following with this story? Am I even making any sense? Bear with me, okay? I’m sleep deprived and losing touch with reality right now.

Yes. So, Loki’s place.

I turned on the TV, and guess who the fuck I saw? None other than our very own Capsicle and his two goons, Birdman and Sparky Butt. How are they, by the way? Did Tony make Sam those new wings he’s been going on about? It was a news clip about them in Bangkok. When I saw those three on screen, I—I started thinking about when I went to see them, after I saw you and Nat together. You only came in towards the end, so I don’t know how much you know about the little exchange that went on between the four of us. I got no idea what Steve and Sam and Tony have told you (or, as the case may be, neglected to tell you), but I know for certain one thing they couldn’t have told you was my version of things.

I was so hurt, Buck, so  _betrayed_. I want you to know that me deciding to leave the compound was not just your fault. The whole team has some blame to take. I felt so betrayed, Bucky, like everyone was in on a secret that I was not even aware of. It made me wonder how many more secrets there were, how many more there would be, if I decided to stay. I couldn’t live with any of that, Buck, so I ran. I left. Maybe I should’ve stayed to talk to you, but—I was hurt, okay? They talk about people stabbing you in the back? This was more like someone was driving a dozen swords into me from all directions. I was bleeding out everywhere, Buck. I was wounded, in every sense of the word. I can’t—

Okay, enough about that, I think you get the picture.

Back to Loki.

We had sex. You might wonder why I’m telling you this, I’m sure it’s not something you exactly want to hear, but it’s important. When he was…going down on me, I went off into my head. In the moment, I called him your name, by accident. He was pissed off, to say the least. We still went at it, but—I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Buck, and how we used to do things. That happened earlier as well. Not the me calling him ‘Bucky’ by accident, part, but the thinking about you bit. When he said ‘hi’ to me by the door, he wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my cheek. I don’t know why, but my mind was just reminded of you. When we were talking, my thoughts were of you. I just can’t stop thinking about you, today. Yesterday, whatever.

And then, ho ho, this is the best shit ever. You’d think my night couldn’t get worse, right? Oh, but it’s me, of course it can. I was gonna borrow his phone to set an alarm, and what do I discover? That he’s been cheating on me with this girl called Sharon! Naturally, I broke things off with him. Hence why, he is now my ex. We weren’t together that long, actually, just five months. I met him about three weeks after left the compound. I know, so soon, right? I rushed into it, Bucky—don’t think I was over you that fast. I…I used him as a way to forget about you, not as a way to replace you.

I could never replace you, love.

So then I went home, and Peggy and Wanda tried to get me to talk, but I was so tired, I just went to bed. They’re both pissed off at you, by the way. I was in pieces when I left you, and they had to somehow put me back together. Even now, I don’t think I’m all here. I think you’re holding on to some of me, Buck, and I don’t know whether I want you to keep those pieces of me or not. It’s like I can never be whole without you.

I had a nightmare, Bucky. You—I don’t want to go into the details, ‘cause it’ll make you cry, and then that’ll make me cry, and that’s no good for anyone. But, in a nutshell, it was about you…and Nat. It was about that day I found out, except a billion times worse, exaggerated in dream-world, right? And I just got really shaken up by it. I was so weirded out, I had to get out of my room. And…that’s how I ended up here, on a park bench at 4.19AM and typing my heart out to you. Remember how we used to keep your nightmares away?

That first time it happened, I think Steve was gone. If I remember correctly, he was on a mission in Germany. I heard you screaming from down the hall Bucky, and it wasn’t the first time you’d done that, but it was the first time it went on for that long. Then I remembered that Steve was gone — in fact, I think it might’ve just been you and me at the compound, ‘cause I’m pretty sure Nat and Sam went with him — so there wouldn’t be anyone else to wake you up. Now, some people might say that I was doing it to help you, but really, I was just helping myself, y’know? I need my sleep. You tell yourself whatever you want, but I’m being completely serious with you, Bucky, I was only helping myself. Not.

You were so scared when I first came in. Thought I should go away because you might accidentally stab me or something. I never told you this, but in the morning, I found a little bruise on my upper arm, from when your metal hand hit me. Completely by accident! And it was gone in a few days, I barely even noticed it. Don’t you dare beat yourself up about it, Barnes. I know you’ve got those puppy-dog ‘I’m sorry’ eyes right now, cut it out.

Anyway, that’s how Nightmare NightsTM began. You’d have a nightmare, I would cautiously wake you up, and then we’d head out to the lounge to watch a movie and have hot chocolate with extra marshmallows because you have the biggest sweet tooth of anyone I know. Sometimes we’d talk, but mostly — especially those first few times — you just wanted company, and I happily provided it for you.

You’d put your head in my lap, and I’d stroke your shoulder/neck, because you hated having people touching your head back then. I don’t know what we watched, usually. I don’t even know if you were watching, or if you went back to sleep. I had a tendency to doze off, didn’t I?

Eventually, the location shifted from the lounge to my room. I forget why we had to move. Or maybe one of us suggested it. Do you remember why, Bucky? Anyway, we set something up on the TV in my room, and that was the first night we snuggled together in a bed. In the back of my mind, I remember thinking that this was a breach of every single professionalism protocol I had established for myself, but I rationalised it by saying that you were a special case. I know you hate being called that, but you can’t deny the fact that your situation was unique, at least to me. Haven’t had to deal with a person like you ever before — and by that, I mean someone who’s had a wholly new identity engineered for them — and hopefully I won’t have to ever again.

Anyway, we slept together for the first time that night. And all I remember thinking is that I wouldn’t mind doing it again. You told me it was the best sleep you’d had in months and I knew that I wanted to help you get that as often as possible. How’re you sleeping now, Buck? Is someone keeping you company? Is Steve back on nightmare watch?

I don’t know why I still care about you. Sometimes I get mad at myself for caring about you. Other times, I’m just sad.

Okay, we’re getting into sappy territory, now. Do not hold me accountable for anything my crazed mind decides to spew out.

You’re beautiful, Buck, you know that? You may not think you’re gorgeous, but I do. And your heart’s beautiful as well — though maybe not the way I thought it was. I know you’re trained to be a liar, but I also know that there’s some things you just can’t fake. There’s kindness in that big ‘ol heart of yours. HYDRA tried to take that away from you, but they didn’t succeed. Maybe they suppressed it, temporarily, but that kindness, that enormous capacity for generosity, that ability and  _desire_  to put everyone else’s needs before yours — that’s all you, Bucky. Winter Soldier or not, your kindness is what makes you James Buchanan Barnes, through and through.

So why am I here talking about your kindness, even though you dragged my heart through hell and then some? Honestly, I don’t know. Love makes you blind, I realised, but I think when it comes to you, love also makes me numb to the pain. Or, perhaps more accurately, it increases my tolerance for it. You’ve hurt me, yes, more so than anyone ever has, but—I don’t hate you for it. I don’t think it’s possible for me to hate you. Whatever we had was something special, to me, and…and no matter how badly I’m hurt—it’s like I said. Some things you can’t fake. You’re a good person, Bucky. I know you are.

God, I’m rambling all over the place, aren’t I? I hope you don’t mind. I haven’t talked to you in a long time, so I’ve got things to say. Plus, I’m in a weird mood, and you, of all people, know how chatty I get when I’m like that. It’s bloody 4.22AM, I should be asleep, for fuck’s sake.

I miss a lot of things about you, Buck.

I miss talking to you, Bucky. Of all the things we used to do together, talking was, sadly enough, my favourite. I love the sound of your voice. Notice the tense there: present. It’s true. I still love it. Nothing can change that. It’s one of the sweetest melodies my ears have ever had the pleasure to listen to.

I miss the way you smiled at me, like I was the only person that mattered to you in this entire world, like if everything came crashing down around us, you’d still run to save me first. Was that all a lie, Bucky? Did you mean anything you said?

I miss holding you. There was just enough of you to make me feel safe, enough of you for me to drape my body over. I’d give anything to have that again, to go back to that time when I didn’t know. I’d kiss you so good, love, better than I’ve ever done it before. Kiss your pillowy soft lips so tender, ‘cause Lord knows you haven’t had enough tenderness in your life. I wanna make you melt into the bed, Bucky, make you feel like you’re floating on the softest cloud in the sky. I’d run my hands all over your body, kiss all your scars, make sure you know just how  _gorgeous_  you are. I’d touch you like you’re as delicate as a china plate. I want to feel that intimacy again. When we had sex, it was more than just the physical connection for me, Bucky. It was like my soul had found its other half. 

I want to be whole again.

I forgot how much lonelier it is to sleep in a bed without you next to me. Even when I was with Loki, I felt lonely. It’s like my body has gotten used to having you next to me, and it’s not going to settle for any lesser substitute. How have you been sleeping, Bucky? I know it was always hard for you to get to sleep. Is it the same for you, love, do you miss me? Or…do you have another body next to you to keep you warm? I hope you haven’t, but at the same time, I hope you have. I’ll not begrudge you your happiness, Buck.

 

> _Would’ve gave it all for you, cared for you  
>  _ _So tell me where I went wrong  
>  _ _Would’ve gave it all for you, cared for you_

Bucky, do you remember when we played Snakes and Ladders with Steve for the first time? It was one of my first ‘alternative’ sessions with you, I remember. Steve once told me that the two of you used to be really competitive, and I thought that if we tried to recreate some of that competitiveness in a relatively safe environment, maybe we’d make some progress in terms of memory restoration. But, my oh my, I think ‘competitive’ is an understatement when it comes to the two of you. That was the first time I saw Steve visibly relaxed around you. It was the first time I saw you outright grinning, Bucky, the first time I had a ‘hallelujah we’ve gotten somewhere’ moment with you.

What went wrong, Buck? I just wanted to make you smile like that again, as many times as I could. It was one of the most breathtakingly beautiful things I’d ever seen. What’s wrong with me wanting to make you smile?

Bucky, I—how can I make you understand this? Love, I would’ve given you  _anything_ , anything I could give you and maybe a bit beyond that, just to see you happy. You deserve all the happiness in this world Bucky, after the hell you’ve been through — things I can only ever imagine. I know you don’t think you’re allowed happiness, that you’re not worthy of it, and that no matter how many times I say it, you’re never gonna believe me, but  _you do_ , sweetheart, you do.

Shit. I’ve just read the last few bits back and god, I’m all over the place. It’s 4.32AM, forgive me, okay? Do you mind that it’s so long? I have a lot to say, it seems, and this train just keeps on rolling down the hill. No idea when it’s gonna crash, ‘cause I can’t see the bottom. I don’t know what’s waiting for me down there, but I don’t think it’s you, love.

I haven’t told you about my realisations, have I? I’ve had a few profound thoughts in the last 24 hours.

Well, after the events of yesterday, I was feeling really self-reflective, right? And I came to realise a lot of things. I won’t go into a lot of detail, because I think I still need some time to process things myself, but what I wanna tell you is that my relationships have always been the same. My love life is completely predictable. I meet a guy, we click a little (but not a lot), we have great sex, we’re happy enough with each other, and then he’ll cheat on me, or do something shady that breaks my heart and then we’re done.

You were the person to deviate from the mould, Buck. You were different, and I thought what  _we_ had was different. Did you feel the same?

I let things go so much further with you, Bucky. Ours was the longest relationship I’d ever had. I let you in in ways no one else before you had ever come close to. You saw things that I hadn’t shown anybody, not even Jane, or Wanda, or Peggy. I trusted you with pieces of myself that I didn’t want people to see; the darkest, dreariest parts of my soul. I thought…I thought you’d cherish them, that you’d see this as the privilege that it was. Do you have any idea how  _difficult_  it was to let you in? You told me that every single one of those blackened pieces was beautiful. Did you mean that?

A lot of things about how we separated broke my heart, love, but one of the things that hurts most is the way I loved you when no one else did. And, I guess, the fact that you didn’t see that. I cared for you, in ways I’d never cared for anyone before. Not just professionally, mind you, but when we got serious, too. Things were different. I was the first person, and for a while, the  _only_  person who truly loved you as you were — in your  _entirety_ , Bucky. I didn’t see the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes as two separate entities, but two halves of the whole. I know you hate that one side of you, but someone’s gotta make you feel okay with that dark part of yourself, and I was up for the job.

Did you let me in as much as I let you in, Bucky? Did I get to see all the worst parts of you, or were there secrets you kept? I’m not angry if you kept them from me. We all have our reasons, we all need different lengths of time to get comfortable and build trust, but just know that I would tell you that you’re perfect even if you told me that you were Hitler himself reincarnated. I’d think no less of you. You could open yourself up and show me how broken and tattered your soul is, but I would show you how every single piece — battered, bruised or worse — still shone brighter than any diamond. I was (am?) in love with  _all_  of you, Bucky. If you ever read this, play that John Legend song, will you?

I think that train’s finally starting to run out of steam, now.

Yeah. My heart is broken. But…I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like it’s hanging on by a thread, you know? It’s fractured into a million different pieces, but they’re all somehow held together by the thinnest gossamer of hope. Six months later, and even though you ripped my heart out and crushed it in your metal hand, I think it still manages to beat for you.

I don’t know about forgiveness, Bucky. I might not be  _fully_  broken, but I am still broken, still feeling the pain. I don’t know the full story, of why you and Nat, well. But if I did know…well, put it this way: have I forgiven you? I don’t think so. Can I forgive you? Quite possibly.

I don’t think you’re the kind of person who’d do that to someone else. Then again, maybe I’m just a poor judge of character. Sweetheart, I—

Hang on, let me take a break, my eyes are watering too much, I can’t see the fucking screen.

Bucky…where did I go wrong? I have a lot of questions, so I’m just gonna list them all here. What made you do it? Why couldn’t you come talk to me about it? You know I would’ve helped you, right? — if Nat was who you really wanted, I would’ve let you go, you just had to ask. What…were you unhappy with me? Was I not enough? What could I have done better, love — I want to know. I  _need_ to know.

Was I wrong to trust you? Did I give you too much of myself, too soon?

A part of me wants to make things better, with you. I don’t think we’ll ever go back to what we used to be — you can’t expect me to ignore something as monumental as  _that_ , so we can’t go back to the era of innocence we were in — but maybe, something with you is better than nothing. I miss you. Miss waking up next to you, cooking with you, getting into stupid fights with you. I miss chasing your nightmares away, and making you laugh and smile and talk when all you want to do is retreat into yourself. Hopefully, when the universe decides to be kind to me, we’ll find a way into each other’s lives again. Trust each other again.

Bucky, I got something to tell you, and if you forget about everything else I’ve said here, just know this:

No one tells you when you love someone — how  _would_  they know? Now, that wouldn’t be a problem if you yourself knew that you were in love, but the thing with you and me is that I, for the longest time, didn’t know that I loved you, because the love I felt for you was unlike what I felt for anyone else. It’s not a sudden epiphany I had one day, right? I didn’t wake up one morning and just decide that I was gonna love you romantically, no. It was more like…one minute, when I examined our relationship, things were strictly professional between us, and then the next time I go to assess things, I realise that we must’ve crossed the line at some point. It was something gradual, like walking through life in slow motion — but when my dumb ass finally figured things out, it was like…life made sense, y’know?

But on the same note, no one tells you when you stop loving someone. They can maybe tell you when  _to_  stop, but only  _you_  can decide for yourself when you’ve actually done the stopping — subtle difference, there. Because, Bucky, love, here’s the thing:  **I don’t think I’ve ever stopped loving you.**

_You look up from your phone, then, to take in the view. Physically, hardly anything has changed; you’re still confronted by the same row of bushes and shrubs, the same buildings in the distance and the same coating of water enshrouds all that it touches. But somehow, things are almost intangibly different — and that comes down to the fact that your heart feels lighter. The weight is no longer crushing your chest so hard you can’t breathe, the burden on your shoulders has somehow been made more manageable. That confession is true, and acknowledging the truth makes you feel lighter than air. You still have a few more things to say, though._

I’ve…never let things get as far in any of my other relationships as I did with you, Bucky. And because of that, I don’t know if it’s normal, the fact that I haven’t stopped loving you even though it’s been so long. It doesn’t make sense, right? You’d think after…after what you did, I’d be hurt and hate you, right? But—something tells me that you did it for a reason. I’m just upset that you couldn’t tell me what that reason was. Of course I’m wounded, but I think someone’s perfectly capable of being wounded and being in love at the same time. Is it confusing? Most definitely. I don’t know whether I want to kiss you more, or punch you more.

Actually, punching you would probably hurt me more than it hurts you, so…

But the point is, I still have feelings for you, you jerk. I don’t know how to rebound from you if I still have feelings for you. It’s been so long, I thought it would get easier — like, I’d just learn to deal with this gaping hole in my life, this persistent, never-ending pain in my body, right? But it hasn’t gotten better. It’s only festered and sometimes it closes up, but I pick at the scab, and pull out the stitches and then my heart is bleeding out onto the floor all over again. It’s crazy, Bucky, how much you can make me feel pain without actually being here.

I don’t hate you for making me hurt; I think we’re both at fault here. I should never have fallen for you in the first place. Don’t get me wrong, love, I don’t, for even a  _second_ , regret loving you when what we had was good, I just…I hurt. And I hate being hurt. This pain in my heart, I don’t think it’s something that will ever fade. No matter what I do, or how long I wait.

I don’t know how to pick myself up from this. It’s like you pushed me down a steep-sided valley and I don’t know how to claw my way out. I thought Loki would give me a lift, but he only took me halfway, and the little ledge we were balancing on was too flimsy to support our combined weight, so I just fell in again.

I don’t know how  _long_  I have to wait before I get over you. Is it a question of if, or a question of when? No one tells you any of these things. I want someone to tell me these things.

I still love you, Bucky. And, if you truly love someone, you let them be themselves. If that means you have to let them go, so that the person can move on to better things, then that’s what you do. That’s what I’m doing. This is not my blessing, but…I’ve gained some closure, from writing this. I’m a good therapist, if I do say so myself. I haven’t moved on from you, nor have I quite forgiven you, but I’ve taken the first step to solving the problem, which is to acknowledge that it’s there in the first place. Maybe now I’ll be able to walk around without feeling like the entire world is trying to crush my heart.

Bucky, I don’t think I’ve moved on from you. I don’t know if I’ll ever move on from you. Hell, I don’t even know if I want to. And even if I  _did_  want to, love, I don’t think I’d know how. How do I move on, Bucky? Tell me how to move on and live a life without you in it?

Is is even possible?

With all my love,

Y/N

_—————————————————————_

Feeling like you’re in a marginally better headspace than when you first sat down, you slip your phone back into your pocket. You feel good. Well, as good as you can be right now, at least. You stand up and do a big stretch, working out the kinks in the back of your neck and your legs. You shake your jacket off, then sling it over your shoulders. The wind has started to pick up, and you decide to head back to the apartment and try to catch a little more sleep before you have to get to your office.

You yelp when someone smashes into you from behind. It’s a man, that much is clear. He’s big and burly, and the back of your shoulder smarts from where you’ve just crashed into him.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the man mutters, voice low and rumbly.

“It’s okay,” you reply, turning around to face him, “I should’ve watched where I was going,”.

He nods curtly. You can’t see his face, because it’s hidden by the brim of a dark baseball cap and he keeps his head ducked down, as if he wants to avoid eye contact. He’s got a leather jacket on over a henley, and his hands are jammed into his pockets. He side-steps past you. You frown. You know that voice, that jacket looks familiar, and so does his hair—

“Bucky?!” you cry in disbelief.

He whirls around to face you. It  _is_ him. His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Y/N,” he breathes, utterly astonished.

Looks like you won’t be getting extra sleep anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	8. My lover...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you and Bucky sit down to have the conversation you’ve been needing to have for a while.

##  **~ My lover… ~**

You’re absolutely floored. Completely speechless. You’re half-tempted to pinch yourself, to check if this is another cruel dream concocted by your overworked mind. Of all the people to run into right now, the universe just  _had_ to give you James Bu-fucking-chanan Barnes. Whoop-de-doo, your good luck never ends.

The silence seems to drag on forever. In the end, it’s Bucky who makes the first move.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks tentatively, as if worried that you’re some sort of apparition, or something. He takes a step towards you, expression very much like a deer caught in the headlights, hands outstretched in a non-defensive gesture. “Wha—what’re you doing here?”

You cross your arms over your chest and arch one eyebrow. “I could ask you the same thing, Bucky,” you reply coolly.

Bucky winces at your tone, painfully aware of the fact that the two of you are probably not the best of friends, right now. He chooses his next words with caution, not wanting to aggravate you further, because he’s not exactly sure what kind of mood you’re in. “Well, I—I couldn’t sleep,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “So I decided to go for a walk. And…I guess this is where I ended up,”. Bucky stretches out his arms and gestures around the park. He exhales nervously, “I hadn’t realised that I got so far from the compound,” Bucky admits, a timid smile playing on his lips.

You purse your lips, but otherwise don’t give him any indication of what you’re feeling. Truth be told, you’re still in shock — you cannot believe that Bucky Barnes is standing in front of you,  _in the flesh_. Once you’ve got over most of your initial surprise, you force your jaw to work, your lips to shape the words. “I couldn’t sleep, either, actually,” you tell him, “I was—I kinda wanted to talk to you. Wanna go grab some coffee?”

Bucky looks at you like you’ve just spoken to him in Ancient Greek. If his eyes weren’t wide and filled with wonder before, they certainly are now. He blinks a couple of times, as if to shake himself out of his stupor. “I—y-yeah!” he stutters, “Yeah, yeah that’d be great! How—where d’you—I mean—,”.

“There’s a 24/7 diner around the corner,” you interrupt, swooping in to save him from making a fool of himself. Bucky flashes you another one of those timid smiles, and, though it is a mere ghost of what his really happy one looks like, it manages to melt your heart a little all the same.

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky murmurs, motioning for you to walk ahead, “That’ll be real nice. You lead the way,”.

The two of you walk side by side, in a surprisingly  _not_  awkward silence. You catch yourself sneaking glances at him out of the corner of your eye when you think he isn’t looking. It’s still pretty dark out, so you can’t make out his features very well, but you manage to catch a brief glimpse now and then, when the pair of you pass under a streetlight. You swear that his face looks more gaunt than it used to. The stubble on his jaw is scruffier and thicker, which actually tells you a lot about Bucky’s state of mind.

When you were dating him, you used to use the amount of facial hair he had as a sort of ‘mood gauge’. The longer he voluntarily went without shaving, the worse of a mental state he was in. Bucky had a tendency to neglect his self-care when he retreated from the world. Your makeshift meter had always proven to be pretty darn accurate.

When you arrive at the diner, Bucky — like the 40’s gentleman he is — holds the door open for you. It’s a cozy little place, if a little dingy looking. You know that the owner, Scott, is trying to save up some money to spruce the place up, but for now, customers have to put up with the faded tiles, suspiciously-stained seats and faintly musty odour. At least the food is decent enough to make up for the decor. The only other patron in the place tonight is a woman wearing neon pink earphones and reading a newspaper in the corner booth at the back, a mug of coffee in front of her.

Scott waves at you from behind the counter, where he is currently drying glasses with a tea towel. “Y/N!” he calls, “Nice of you to stop by!”

“Heya Scott,” you greet, shooting him a smile, “Business a little slow, tonight eh?”

He shrugs as if to say,  _nothing new there._ “Not much I can do about it, can I?” he says, “Go ahead, sit wherever you want, I’ll get you some menus in a minute, yeah?”

Beside you, you can sense Bucky agitatedly shifting his weight between each foot as his eyes dart around the room. You know how antsy he gets when he goes to unfamiliar places, so you put your hand on his forearm to calm him down. Bucky starts at your touch, but his expression soon softens when he realises what you’re doing.

“Where d’you wanna sit?” you murmur, knowing it’ll give him a peace of mind if he gets to decide.

Bucky goes for the table you thought he might pick; near the front, so that the two of you have some distance between Scott and Newspaper Lady, and right next to a window, so he can keep a watch outside. He chooses to take the seat facing the door and you sink into the chair opposite him. Scott comes over and hands the two of you your menus.

Now that you’re inside the diner, you realise how famished you are. The hunger pains had been gnawing on your stomach for a while, now — ever since you threw up what little food you had inside you after that nightmare — but your body must have tuned out the signals, as your mind was preoccupied with other things. Nearly everything on the menu looks enticing. Your stomach lets out an impatient growl.

Bucky is flicking through the menu, a mildly alarmed look on his face. Extensive options can still make him feel anxious, as his brain gets easily overwhelmed by all the prospects. “If you want something filling, I’d go with the fluffy pancakes, maybe with sausages on the side,” you say gently.

He looks up at you through his lashes, a grateful smile lightening his features. “Yeah? What’re you getting, doll?” he asks.

“What I always get. Chocolate chip pancakes and a coffee,” you reply smoothly.

Bucky snorts in amusement. “You and the fucking chocolate chips,” he mutters.

You wag your index finger at him and narrow your eyes in mock anger. “Don’t you  _dare_  insult my chocolate chips, Barnes,” you growl quietly. Bucky’s eyes widen in terror and for a minute, he looks like he might actually fall for it, so you waggle eyebrows playfully to put him at ease and he actually  _chuckles._

“Okay, okay, chill out,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender, “I know better than to get in the way of you and them,”.

“Good,”.

This is what you miss, you realise. The easy back-and-forth between you two, the amiable banter, the friendly insults, the ability to make a conversation about literally  _anything_  last for hours and hours. Despite not talking to each other in over half a year, coupled with the fact that you parted on less than amiable terms, you fall back into your old routine with surprising ease, as if nothing had ever happened.

When Scott comes by to take your order, Bucky goes with your suggestion and gets the fluffy pancakes with a double helping of sausages. He takes his cap off after Scott leaves, setting it on the table beside him, before raking his gloved metal fingers through his hair.

“You been eating okay, Buck?” you ask softly.

He freezes and looks at you guiltily, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “No, guess I haven’t,” he mutters embarrassedly. A part of you wants to lean over and hug him, maybe shake him around and mother him incessantly, demand that he takes better care of himself. Instead, you settle on scowling in disapproval.

With an apologetic shrug, he goes back to fixing his hat hair. Bucky’s grown his dark locks out since you last saw him, and they almost reach his shoulders now. Huffing impatiently, he pulls a simple black hair band from his wrist and pulls his uncooperative hair back into a low, messy bun. You have to smother down a smile at how frickin’  _innocent_  it makes him look.

Under the bright yellow glow of the overhead fluorescent lights, you’re able to study him better. Bucky’s hair is not just longer, but also scragglier and somewhat…greasy? Like he hasn’t washed it properly in a while. Bucky’s face is indeed more haggard, the eyes sunken in and ringed in dark circles, the beautiful cheekbones now more prominent. His jaw, as you’d noted earlier, is left unkempt and covered in thick stubble, and even his skin looks more sallow, unhealthier than you’d like. All the evidence of self-neglect leads you to draw two possible conclusions. He’s either a) just come back from a really long mission, during which he had no time to take care of himself or b) really been struggling to cope without you. The desperately love-struck fool inside you dearly hopes it’s the second reason.

“So how’re things at the compound?” you ask, hoping that it’s an innocent-enough question to break the ice.

Bucky’s left shoulder hitches in the way you’ve learnt — over countless therapy sessions — to interpret as  _nothing’s changed much_. “Pepper’s brought in this guy, Dr Banner as our new on-site psychiatrist and — well, he’s great, but he ain’t you, y’know?”

You level an unamused glare at him. “Don’t, Bucky. Trying to guilt-trip me won’t make things any better,”.

He grimaces apologetically, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to,” he mutters.

A tense silence passes, the two of you just trying to assess the other person. Bucky is idly picking at the fingernails of his right hand, brow furrowed and jaw tensed. “Doll, I have so many things I gotta tell you,” he says slowly.

The moment he speaks, you feel like a lightbulb suddenly goes off in your head. “Hold that thought,” you say sharply, holding a hand up to stop him in his tracks. Bucky’s mouth snaps shut and he levels you with a look of mild confusion. You reach into your back pocket and pull out your phone, bringing up the ‘letter’ that you’d written him earlier. You skim over a few of the paragraphs, chewing at your bottom lip as you mull over whether or not you  _actually_  want to give this to him. You haven’t even read it all, and it probably won’t make a hell of a lot of sense to him. Besides, there’s a lot for him to take in — what if he gets confused?

Then again, there’s a lot of things you want to say, and most of it’s already been written down.

“Doll?” Bucky asks, breaking you out of your reverie, “What is it?”.

You decide to bite the bullet. With a deep breath, you spin your phone around and hand it over to him. Bucky’s uncertainty only deepens as he accepts it. He frowns as he looks at the screen, “What is this, sugar?”

You swallow nervously and look down at your clasped hands. “So…I told you I couldn’t sleep, right? I—well, I had a lot of things on my mind. So, I decided writing some of it down might help,”. You laugh weakly, and jerk your chin towards your phone, “And that’s what came up, I guess,”.

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise — it seems that you’re giving him a lot of surprises tonight — and his thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating. “So—you want me to read it? All?” he asks, voice slightly incredulous.

“Yeah,” you shrug, “A lot of the things I wanna say is on there, so it’s a good start, right?”

He nods, chewing his bottom lip pensively. “I dunno if I can read it with you here, doll,” Bucky says shyly, a little blush colouring the tops of his cheekbones.

“Oh, right, uh…” you look around the room, wondering what you could do to disappear for a bit and give him some privacy. To be honest, you don’t want to watch him read it, either. “How ‘bout I go to the bathroom for a bit? And I’ll catch up with Scott, too?” you suggest.

Bucky smiles at you gratefully, “Yeah, that’d be great,”.

You get out of your chair and are about to slip past him when Bucky catches hold of your sleeve. “You’re coming back, right?” he asks, a note of desperation in his voice. “I got so much I need to say to you, please don’t leave before I say it all,” he pleads.

Your heart softens at his panicked look and, running completely on instinct, you caress his cheek with the tops of your fingers. “Of course I’m coming back, love,” you murmur, stroking your thumb over his cheekbone, “I won’t be a moment,”.

Almost unthinkingly, he nuzzles into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. He turns his face into your hand and presses a gentle kiss to your palm. Immediately though, he freezes and his eyes flash open. Bucky pulls back with a sheepish grin on his face, “Sorry,” he mumbles, “Don’t think we’re there yet,”.

He looks somewhat appalled by his actions, so you give him a small smile to ease his nerves. “I’ll be back in a few,” you tell him as you turn sharply on your heel and stride to the back of the diner.

You dawdle in the bathroom, trying to waste as much time in there as you possibly can. You’re not entirely sure how long it’ll take him to read everything you’ve written — mostly because you yourself don’t know how much you wrote — but you imagine he’ll need some time alone to process everything. Once you’re done relieving yourself, you come out of the stall and wash your hands in the sink. When you catch your reflection in the mirror, you let out a soft groan.

To say that you look like shit is probably a euphemism.

It’s very apparent that you’ve had one hell of a day. There are dark bags under your bloodshot and red-rimmed eyes, your hair is a ratty mess and your skin has a sickly pallor to it. You look like you could do with about a thousand years of sleep. With a resigned sigh, you turn on the tap and scoop some water in your hands to wash your face with. The cold water instantly makes you feel more alert. There’s not much you can do about your hair, so you settle on raking your fingers through your locks, trying to tame the stray strands as best as possible.

Scott is busy mopping behind the counter when you go back outside. You glance over at Bucky and try to gauge how he’s doing. His shoulders are hunched over and his head is bowed, both elbows on the table. Apart from that, there’s no aspect of his body language that suggests that something is wrong, so you just leave him to it. You prop an elbow on top of the counter, chin resting in your palm.

“So Scott,” you drawl. He glances up from his cleaning and flashes you a tired smile.

“‘’Sup, Y/N?”, he returns, straightening up and wiping the sweat from his brow. Scott balances his mop in the bucket, then comes over to talk to you.

“You’re not cooking tonight?”

Scott grins at you, like he’s got some sort of secret. “I got me a new cook,” he says proudly.

“Really? That’s great!”. You hold your hand up for him to high-five. The search for a new cook for his diner has been going on for several months now, and you knew that Scott had just about lost all hope. “So who’s the lucky person?” you ask excitedly.

He glances over his shoulder, as if to make sure that no one’s listening in and gestures for you to lean in closer. “Between you and me, it’s nobody,” he whispers.

You frown in confusion. “Scott, what the hell are you on about?” you ask.

“Shh! Keep it down,” he hisses, glaring at you pointedly. “Okay, so I’m not technically allowed to hire him, ‘cause he’s got a criminal record, alright?”.

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “What for?”

“Guy won’t tell me. Decided not to push it,” Scott grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. You nod, figuring that he must have his reasons to trust the guy. You understand his sympathy towards this man, as Scott had been in a similar situation himself. Once upon a time, he’d found himself wrongly accused of breaking and entering, leaving him with a criminal record that made finding a job, and more importantly, keeping said job nigh impossible. Luckily, he only had to suffer for two years, before new evidence was found to prove his innocence.

“So who is he?” you ask.

“His name’s Vision,” Scott replies. At your amused look, he elaborates, “That’s what he told me to call him, anyway. I’m assuming it’s a nickname, though. Swanky British dude, wears a mask on the lower half of his face. Guess that’s kinda sketch, but he’s a good man. Decent cook, willing to put up with the long hours and god-awful pay, so…” he trails off with an indifferent shrug. “Can’t complain, can I?”

“Guess not,” you agree, eyes travelling once again to Bucky. His shoulders seem more tense now, so you can only assume that he’s gotten to a part that’s particularly gritty.

Scott follows your line of sight and makes a small noise of interest. “Who’s your friend?” he asks quietly, crouching down to arrange some boxes behind the counter.

“He’s…well, actually, he and I have a lot of talking to do,” you say slowly, “Lots of things we need to say to clear the air, things to figure out, all that lovely stuff,”.

Scott nods wisely. “So it’s  _that_  kind of night, huh? Or—I guess, morning?”

“Yeah, I guess,”, you murmur absentmindedly.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone then,” Scott declares, clapping his hands decisively, “Give you a whole pot of coffee too, you guys look like you could use some,”.

You whirl to face him, “Oh no, you don’t have to—,”

“Please,” he says, a tiny smile gracing his lips. Scott holds his hands up, “It’s on the house,”. He doesn’t look like he’s going to take no for an answer, no matter how much of a protest you might put up, so you just give him a smile in thanks.

“I’d best get back to him,” you say, pushing off from the counter, “Lots to talk about,”.

Scott gives you a look of encouragement. “Good luck. I think you might need it,”.

“Thanks,”.

As you draw nearer to your table, you realise that, what at a distance had looked like tense shoulders are in fact, shoulders that are minutely shaking. Hesitatingly, you slide back into your chair. “Oh, love,” you breathe, taking in the sight. There are wet trails on his cheeks and Bucky’s eyes shine with yet more tears. His luscious bottom lip is quivering so much, you have to fight the urge to press your thumb — hell, press your  _lips_  — to it. Barely-audible sobs wrench their way out of his throat every now and then, and they’re doing a number on your heart. Bucky’s gloved metal hand is clenched into a tight fist, whilst he uses the flesh one to scroll. You note that there is an almost imperceptible tremble to his fingers.

With a heaving breath, Bucky switches your phone off and slides it back towards you. You push it to the side of the table, out of the way. He’s watching you intently whilst trying to reign himself in, gain some control over his breathing.

“Buck?” you ask softly.

“Just—gimme a minute,” he whispers, clasping his hands together and resting his forehead on top of them. Bucky takes a few deep breaths and with each one, his breathing evens out, becomes less shaky on the exhale. “Okay,” he breathes, flicking his eyes up to look at you. The sorrow and heartbreak in his gaze makes you want to wrap him up in your arms and never let go.

Scott dashes over just then, both your plates balanced precariously on one arm, a tray with the coffee held in his other had. Without a word, he swiftly sets everything on the table, and offers you a quick wink of solace before he goes back to the counter.

Bucky swallows nervously and uses his sleeve to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. “Doll,” he begins, cutting himself off immediately when his voice cracks. He laughs wetly, “Y/N, that was—wow,” he sighs, looking at you with an unplaceable expression on his face. “I still love you too, you know?” he says urgently, “I’ve never stopped loving you, either,”.

You school your face to remain neutral as you shove a forkful of pancake into your mouth.

Bucky nods in understanding and continues, “Okay, well. I—I have no idea what to say now, really, I mean—,” he makes a vague gesture to your phone with his hand, “How am I supposed to top  _that_? If you ever get sick of being a psychiatrist, I think you could be a fucking writer, doll,”.

You chuckle despite yourself, shaking your head in amusement. “Of course you’d say that,” you mutter fondly. You tilt your head to the side, “I guess I just got one more question to ask before I let you talk, Buck,”.

He nods, taking a bite out of one of his sausages. “Shoot,” he says, the word coming out garbled because of the food in his mouth.

You scrunch you nose up in mock disgust and stick your tongue out at him. Bucky chortles, the corners of his eyes crinkling adorably as he laughs. You shake your head and focus on putting on your serious face, because,  _goddammit_ , the two of you are supposed to be having an adult conversation, right now.

When you’ve pulled yourself together, you stare pointedly at your fork, unwilling to face him as you ask the question that has been plaguing you for the better part of the year. “Bucky…why’d you do it?”, your voice coming out barely louder than a whisper.

 

> _My lover, my liar_

Bucky sighs tiredly, takes an enormous mouthful of pancake and sausage — seriously, you wonder how he can open his mouth so wide — then sets his cutlery down. He chews with a thoughtful look on his face, so you allow him time to think, knowing that he’ll tell you when he’s got things phrased right in his head. You wistfully remember how Bucky had been very particular about that during his therapy sessions.

“I guess I owe you the full story, huh?” he says, after a drawn-out moment of silence, “After all the shit I’ve put you through, you deserve it,”.

You don’t say anything, just focus on chewing your pancakes with as much of a stoic expression as you can.

Bucky scratches his jaw pensively. “Okay, what I’m gonna say probably won’t make sense, at first, but you gotta hear me out, alright? No interruptions. You’ll get things once I’ve told you the full story,” he says. You want to scream at him for being so cryptic. Bucky leans in closer and lowers his volume, as if he’s about to tell you state secrets. “I’m probably breaking about a dozen different rules telling you all this, but hell, if there’s anyone worth breaking rules for, it’s you, doll,”. He winks mischievously, then sits back in his chair and tips his head back to look at the ceiling. Bucky blows out a long breath through his mouth.

“Right, well, the most important thing for you to know is that things between Natasha and I were never serious,” he begins slowly. You can tell by the slight furrow in his brow that he’s treading with utmost caution, picking his words carefully. “I guess it makes sense to start at the beginning, right?” Bucky continues, “Natalia and I have history, this is true. I don’t just mean that in the sense that I was one of her trainers in the Red Room, but also that when she started working in the field, we went on a couple of covert missions together,”.

Your eyebrows quirk up in surprise. As the Avengers’ private therapist, you had of course picked up on the unusually companionable relationship between Bucky and Nat. You’d found this surprising, as Bucky didn’t seem to be very trusting of very many people at the time, least of all ex-spies. You suspected that they had had some kind of contact with each other during his time as the Soldier, your theories further bolstered when Nat had hinted at having a personal connection with HYDRA’s greatest weapon.

Bucky assesses your reaction, before continuing tentatively. “We crossed paths a few times, actually. I don’t know how it happened…but I think she fell for me. Sweetheart, she saw me as the Soldier, a cold-blooded, brainwashed killer, and somehow, she managed to find the capacity to love me,”.

Your stomach churns at his words, and Bucky seems to pick up on this, so he hastily adds, “It was brief, and I can wholly assure you that it was one-sided, doll. HYDRA pumped me full of all sorts of chemicals to suppress those urges in me,”. He gives you a wry smile, “I think her feelings might have changed when I tried to kill her that one time, though,”.

“What?” you gasp, fork poised in mid-air. Bucky chuckles at your astonishment.

“Well, it was just after she’d switched allegiances, from the KGB to SHIELD,” he explains, “My handlers sent me after her, to sort her out,”.

“So…what, she’s forgiven you? Like, the two of you are okay with that? I don’t see how…” your voice trails off as you frown in confusion. Their relationship — or supposed relationship, if you’re going to believe Bucky’s words and accept that they were never actually together — doesn’t make sense. If Bucky tried to kill her, why would Nat allow him to get that close again?

Bucky shrugs his metal shoulder. “I think we’ve just agreed to let the past be the past,” he muses, “But then again, she _is_  Natalia, and a completely different creature altogether. I don’t pretend to understand her. I mean, she had feelings for the  _Soldier_ , of all people, so maybe…”, he leaves the sentence unfinished and makes circular gestures with his hands as if to say  _well, you know what she’s like._

“Okay, so…that was before, what now?” you ask.

He hesitates, pushing a scrap of pancake around his plate as he thinks. “Well, when I went away, after…after DC,” Bucky’s face contorts into a grimace at the unpleasant memory, “A lot of my memories started to come back. And her face was in there. So when I came to the compound, and saw her in person, I kinda knew who she was,”.

Bucky’s next exhale comes out in a quick whoosh. “I—she was drunk, one night, after one of Tony’s parties, and came to my room. Mind you, this was well before anything happened between you and I, doll; this must’ve been…three months? After I came back, that is,”. The words trip over themselves in his haste to get them out. He’s obviously uncomfortable, like it’s a struggle trying to get the words out.

“What happened?” you ask quietly, almost unsure if you want to hear the answer.

“She was drunk,” he repeats, “And…threw herself at me. She showed up at my door and literally  _launched_ herself at me. I didn’t particularly want to be with her, but I…wanted to remember what it was to feel human again,”. A sad little smile flickers across his mouth. When he looks into your eyes, Bucky’s gaze is so mournful, you have to fight down your irrational urge to kiss him. “I felt horrible, just using her like that, but—I hadn’t had sex in 70 years, doll!”. He laughs dejectedly.

“That’s no excuse, of course, but can you imagine what hell my body was going through, trying to remember what it was to be human again? To have urges, and needs, and desires? I hadn’t been allowed to do things like that with HYDRA, and here was a warm body presenting herself to me, and I took the opportunity! I’m not proud of it,” Bucky adds defensively, vein in his neck twitching from annoyance.

“You never mentioned any of this to me,” you murmur, “During our sessions, that is,”.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours for a split second. “I…I was ashamed, doll. I thought, there were so many problems about me that you had to deal with, I didn’t want to add to the list. And besides, I didn’t really want to jeopardise her position on the team, or anything like that,”.

You have a million things to say to that, but decide to drop the issue, because there’s nothing you can do to rectify the situation. Besides, there are more important things to be discussing. “Was that the only time things got—,” you hesitate, wanting to choose the right word, “ _Intimate_ , between you two?”

Bucky shakes his head morosely, and your heart sinks. “Well, depends what you mean by ‘intimate’, doll,” he sighs, “‘Cause in a way, yes, because that’s the only time we ever had sex—,”

“Really?”, you interrupt, your eyebrows nearly disappearing into your hairline.

“—Yes, really, but I’ll—okay,” he huffs frustratedly at the disbelieving look on your face, “If you don’t believe me, remember what I said? You gotta hear the full story. But yes, it was the only time we slept together,”.

“…So how else were you intimate?” you ask timidly, deathly afraid of what he might say.

“There were a few times where we kissed or…went a little further,” says Bucky hesitatingly, “Six, at most. After a mission, usually,”.

“Did she force herself on you again, or…”.

Bucky grimaces again. “Don’t get the wrong picture, doll. We—I wasn’t in the right headspace for a relationship, and Nat thought she was helping. I wanted to make it work, but at the same time, I didn’t. I was so messed up. And—and sometimes, yes, she would initiate, but sometimes I would,”. He laughs softly, but there’s no joy behind it, “I was always the one to put a stop to it, though. Whatever was going on between us couldn’t go on anymore. My conscience kicked in,”.

“Did you put a stop to things  _when_  we got together, or before…or after?”

Bucky holds up one finger as if to say  _wait_. He takes a sip of his coffee, another bite of his — now cold — pancakes and chews thoughtfully, for a little. “We’re not there yet, doll,” he says, “First, I need to talk about how I fell in love with you,”.

You can’t ignore the way your cheeks flush hotly, or the way your heart flutters excitedly at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)


	9. ...my liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which ALL is revealed, forcing you to make a difficult decision.

##  **~ …my liar ~**

“It was—,”, Bucky sighs and shakes his head ruefully, “I don’t have the same way with words as you doll, but I guess it was kinda slow, pretty gradual. I realised it was happening pretty late in the game, but I think I was in love with you for a long time,”. Bucky slowly reaches across the table and cautiously rests his flesh hand on top of yours; you don’t pull away. “You were so patient, so understanding, so  _kind_  to me,” he says softly, “You had this…this intuition about me. When to let me make my own choices, but not to make me choose when I was overwhelmed, or make me choose between too many things. It was always this or that. And slowly, we worked it up to this or that or that. And—you can’t believe how much of a help that’s been,”.

There are tears gathering in his eyes, so you twist your hand around so that it’s palm up and use your thumb to soothe small circles on the back of his hand. Bucky smiles wistfully at the gesture.

“That’s not the only thing you’ve done for me, sweetheart. You’ve done  _so many_ things, things you’re probably not even aware you were doing but—,” he cuts himself off as a tear rolls down his cheek, shaking his head dolefully. When Bucky looks into your eyes, even the dumbest of fools could not mistake the sincerity in his gaze, “I  _always_  appreciated what you did for me, doll. Don’t you ever think otherwise,”.

The shattered remains of your heart flare with joy at that.

“I knew I loved you,” Bucky says, eyes focused on where your hands are clasped together, “I’d forgotten what it was to love. The only people I’ve really ever loved where my parents and my sisters, and Steve, I guess—but that’s not the kind of love it was like with you,”. Bucky’s gaze shifts to your face and he cocks his head to the left, deep in thought. “It was like…I was sinking, but I didn’t want to swim my way to the top. At first I was scared, ‘cause I didn’t wanna hurt you, but—I just let myself sink,”. He lets out a watery chuckle, “And when I got to the bottom, I let it embrace me. And with you—it’s like I realised I could breathe underwater,”. Bucky looks so unsure of himself that you can’t help but give his hand a little squeeze. The corner of his lips twitch in response.

“You know the first time I realised?” Bucky asks. When you shake your head mutely, he continues, “It was when you and I had our first picnic in the garden, do you remember?”

“Yeah,” you laugh breathlessly, “Yeah, I remember,”. It had been a wonderfully crisp spring day, some six months after you moved into the compound. You decided to take your session with Bucky outside, spreading out a proper picnic blanket — courtesy of Pepper — with plenty of food. Bucky had looked so content, sitting with his palms behind him, face turned towards the sun, a tiny smile playing on his lips. The two of you had talked, but it wasn’t a very rigid or particularly structured session; things felt more organic, the conversation flowing freely. It was one of the first times where your interactions crossed the line from strictly professional, to something more intimate.

“It was one of the best days I’d had in a long time,” Bucky admits, “I said something — can’t remember what it was, now — and you laughed. Honest-to-god  _laughed_ , a proper big one,”. He’s grinning now, lost in the memory, and you can’t help but smile along with him. “Your entire face lit up brighter than the sun, and your eyes shone like two gigantic stars. And you looked so goddamn  _gorgeous_ , and the sound was so pretty, I—that laugh made me feel happier than anything else in this world. Made my heart skip a beat and helped fuse together the random pieces of my mind floating around inside here,” Bucky knocks his temple with his free hand. “And I just knew that I wanted to make you laugh like that again,”.

“And you did,” you murmur comfortingly, not missing the way his face falls after saying that.

Bucky gives you a self-depreciating chuckle. “Yeah, guess I did. You know what else made me sure? That I loved you?”

You’re not sure if he actually wants an answer or not, but you say “What?” nonetheless.

“Babydoll, you were the person to show me that I could use  _this_ ,” Bucky waves his metal hand around, “For something other than destruction. For  _pleasure_ , specifically,”.

“It  _was_  very pleasurable,” you confess, winking at him playfully to lighten the mood. The lopsided smirk you get in return makes your heart tighten with longing.

“There are other things,” Bucky continues, “Millions of things, so many that I could fill whole  _books_ , doll. Or, well, I would, if I could actually write. But we’ll digress from the story if I go into them now,”.

“Back to you and Nat?” you murmur.

He nods in agreement, “Back to Nat and I. Right. So, once I realised that I had feelings for you, like  _proper_ , feelings for you, I told her and we cut things off. This was before we ever did anything even vaguely romantic together,”.

Your brows furrow, because things just…don’t add up.

“Right, well, now we’re getting into the good stuff,” Bucky sighs, leaning back into his chair. “We — that is, the Avengers and I — figured that there had to be a spy in the compound,”.

“A spy?” you echo, “What—how?”

“A couple of months after we started dating, the team had a number of bust missions,”, Bucky says slowly, clasping his hands together and resting them on the edge of the table. “Budapest, Vienna, Jakarta, a few more. Everything from being ambushed, to lousy intel, to hostages, to the bad guys getting there before we could, you name it. And it was all…too perfect, too in the nick of time, so we figured there had to be someone leaking out sensitive info,”.

“At first, we couldn’t see a pattern; they all seemed unrelated. And worse still, not all the missions we went on, went south. It was kind of luck of the draw, until Steve and that big brain of his realised that all the missions that  _were_  going bust were HYDRA-related in some way,”.

Your eyebrow quirks up in interest.

Bucky’s getting into it now, hands moving animatedly as he recounts his tale. “Not HYDRA, per se — there’s hardly anything left of them — but a lot of the facades they’d set up over the years were still in place and starting to act up. So this raised the question: alright, so who’s the HYDRA rat? The only people that have access to this info are the STRIKE team, so we figured it had to be one of them,”.

You scrunch your nose in disapproval. The STRIKE team provided extra support for the Avengers in whatever form they might require, usually in the form of extra man power. You’d had a few brushes with the team members over your couple of years in the compound and you didn’t like any them one bit. Big ugly brutes; way too macho and aggressive for your taste.

“We didn’t want to call their bluff too early, ‘cause we wanted to see how deeply HYDRA had breached our security,”, Bucky explains.

You’re getting more and more confused. “I don’t see how this relates to you and Nat,”.

Bucky nods sympathetically. “I know, doll, we’re getting to that part, I just got a few more pieces of the puzzle to show you,”. He clears his throat, “So, it was no secret to any of us that HYDRA wanted me back,”.

You grimace because you hate thinking about the atrocities that Bucky had had to go through in those years. Alone, no less. You weren’t a violent person by nature, but you had a strong urge to rip the people who’d hurt him apart, limb from limb. Bucky, sensing your distress, gives you a placating smile. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, no one in the team was gonna let that happen, especially not with Steve around,”. The two of you chuckle fondly; the Cap was known for being a  _little_  paranoid over matters concerning his childhood best friend.

“But the point is, they wanted me back. Makes sense, right? They invested a whole lot of time and effort and money into me, the Fist of HYDRA, their greatest asset, so they’re not gonna let me just walk away. Either  _they_  have me, or no one has me. And we figured that if there was a mole in the compound, ultimately, they would attempt to get me back. Because with the Soldier under their control, HYDRA would be able to rebuild much faster,”.

Bucky takes both your hands in his, as if he needs to take some strength from you. When he gazes into your eyes, you see the vulnerability in his stare. “And…if they knew what you meant to me, sweetheart, they wouldn’t hesitate to use you against me. They’d take you and manipulate you, so they could get me back,”.

You suck in a surprised breath at his statement. It’s not too far-fetched to believe; after what those monsters did to him, you’re certain that nothing is beneath them.

“And I’d go after you, sweetheart,” Bucky says, his voice wavering, but sincere. “Don’t you for a second think that I wouldn’t. I would tear this world apart, bring down heaven and raise the Devil from hell itself if that’s what I had to do to get you back. You’re my everything, sweetheart, my  _everything,_ ”. Buck turns away and chokes back a wretched sob. You don’t have it in you to doubt him, so you squeeze his hands reassuringly, a silent show of your faith in him.

“I know, Buck,” you whisper, “My love, I know you would,”.

He smiles wetly. “A part of me lives inside you. I’m not whole without you,” he murmurs, paraphrasing some of the words you’d said to him in your letter. Bucky pulls his human hand out of yours and wipes away his tears with an exhausted sigh, “So that’s why we had to keep our relationships under wraps,”, he tells you.

You hum in understanding, pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. Bucky had been very insistent that as few people as possible knew about your relationship. You’d assumed — and he hadn’t said anything to lead you to think otherwise — that it was because he just wanted to keep you to himself for a while. Being in a group as high-profile as the Avengers meant that many aspects of Bucky’s life were under scrutiny by the general public, so any scrap of privacy he could have, he treasured. The only people in the compound who  _were_  in on your little secret was the rest of the team; Sam, Steve, Tony and Nat. Now, his behaviour and requests make a lot more sense.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling when he sees the understanding flicker across your face, “Think about it, who knew about us — just the team right? To everyone else, you were just my therapist. Even allowing you to be seen as a close friend was risky,”.

Bucky’s fingers twitch as he pauses. His eyes are dark, but have a far-off look in them, as if whatever he has to say next really hurts. “We had to throw their scent off further,” he says quietly, “I couldn’t risk them knowing about us. We tossed a few ideas around, but agreed that the ultimate way was to pretend that I had a private, yet illustrious affair with Natasha herself. It would make sense to them. I already had history with her, so they’d think I was just acting on old urges,”.

“And if they ever got Natasha,” Bucky adds, with a little shrug, “She’s been held captive before, potentially by worse people. I’m sure she could take it. She rather it were her, than you,”

“She’d do that for me?” you breathe, voice quietly incredulous, “She would…I guess, sacrifice herself for me?”

Bucky nods, a tiny smile on his lips, “Yeah doll. She saw what you and I were. She’d do that for  _us,_ ”.

Suddenly, you feel extremely guilty for ever questioning the strength of the friendship between you and Nat. You should’ve know that although she may have had a dark past, her fierceness of character and sense of loyalty to the people she cared for would never waver.

“So, we had to keep it private,” Bucky continues, “Yet make sure that the people who we thought might be the rat — the STRIKE team — were in the know. That’s why Nat and I started going on a lot of missions with them, and being…well,  _touchy_ , around them, I guess,”.

Your face twists into a grimace at the thought of them together, your mind conjuring up images of when they had been  _incredibly_  touchy with one another. Bucky seems to notice this, as he is quick to add, “She treated it like an extended mission, love, and so did I. I was never in love with her. I—I just took it as a job, right? It was always just part of my job, keeping you safe,”.

“You know how hard it was to lie to you?” he says urgently, hands clutching yours a little tighter. His eyes burn with intense desperation, he  _wants_  you to believe him so badly. “It broke my heart every time I had to lie to you, every time I had to touch her. I wish I didn’t have to, doll. I really did. We had to—there was so much we had to do to makesure you didn’t find out. God, I never wanted to hurt you, love, but I didn’t know what else I had to do to keep you safe,”.

“How long did it go on for?” you ask quietly.

Bucky hesitates and your heart is filled with a sinking feeling. You’re not going to like his answer.

“About nine months,”, he says, at last.

Your eyes widen, because that is…practically  _all_ the time that the two of you were dating.

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t mean what I said to you!” Bucky insists, squeezing your hands harder when he feels you starting to withdraw. “Please, doll, you gotta believe me, I never,  _ever_ , loved her, it was only ever you in my heart of hearts,”, he says, conviction lacing his tone. You search his face for any sign that he is lying, but then again, how would you know? Apparently, he’s been lying to you for almost your entire relationship, and you didn’t notice then, why would you notice now? Your confusion is only heightened.

“Please, doll,” Bucky whispers brokenly, eyes bright with unshed tears.

“So what about…the whole…incident?” you ask, fighting to keep your expression as cool and neutral as possible. You pray the you won’t have to specify which ‘incident’ you’re referring to.

Bucky flinches, not wanting to say the next bit. “It was set up,”.

“What?!” you exclaim, perhaps a little too loud. From behind the counter, Scott shoots you a curious look. You wince and say it again, quieter this time.

“Hear me out, okay?” Bucky pleads, “I had to push you away, love. Things were…getting too close, too heated. Nat and I—our cover was under question, some of the STRIKE team weren’t buying it so much, and the only thing any of us could do to keep you safe was to make you leave,”.

You are genuinely stunned. You’d thought that your friends had betrayed you, but really…they were trying to keep you safe? The knowledge doesn’t lessen the pain in the slightest. It had felt so  _real_.

“How—how did it—you gotta tell me more, Bucky,” you say, voice trembling a little.

Bucky nods. “So I told JARVIS to send you down to the hangar. Nat and I got set up in the janitor’s closet — we purposefully left the door unlocked, d’you know that?”

You  _had_ found that detail particularly strange. Forgetting to lock the door didn’t seem like something that either of them would do, even in the heat of the moment. “So—you didn’t have sex with her?”

Bucky blushed profusely. “No, not sex. But, we had to make things look as convincing as possible, so she got naked and I had to—make it hard, which was a, uhh,” he trails off and laughs abashedly. “Um, embarrassing, I guess. I had to, y’know,” he makes a rude gesture with his hand and you roll your eyes, biting back a smirk. “But god bless her,” Bucky murmurs, “Took it all in stride. Very little fazes her,”.

His expression sobers and he looks at you intently. “With her, it was only ever that one time when she was drunk. You  _have_  to believe me doll, I would never  _ever_  cheat on you, you deserve so much better than that. I only ever wanted to keep you safe and make you happy, and I guess I did one but not the other,”, Bucky sighs.

“You  _did_  make me happy, Buck,” you whisper softly.

Bucky shrugs. “You shoulda seen Steve, after,” he says softly, “Wanted to come running after you. Steve doesn’t have it in him to be cruel. Even Tony and Sam were pretty shook up.  _Are_  still pretty shook up.Just because they weren’t in love with you doesn’t mean they didn’t care for you, doll,”.

“So all of them really were in the know?” you ask.

“Yeah. We spent a long time planning it, trying to make it as realistic as possible, trying to make it so you left the compound and severed all contact with us,” says Bucky. “And we figure that the only way it was going to happen  _for certain_ , was if you just felt…well, betrayed,”. He cracks, then, a harsh, wounded noise ripping free from his throat. A fat tear rolls down his cheek and you just manage to stop yourself from reaching across the table to swipe it away.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Bucky sobs, “Honest, I never. None of us wanted to. None of us wanted to see you go. We were all hurt, love, I—even Natasha, you know? Felt so guilty. All of us felt so guilty,”.

You can’t bear to look at him anymore, fearing that your last reserves of control would be used up. You avert your gaze to stare at your lap, “Did you catch your rat?”

“Well, we figured out who he was,” Bucky replies, “Rumlow, the bastard. He got away before we could catch him. We’re trying to track him down, but the son of a bitch is pretty damn smart,”.

The two of you are silent for a long time. Bucky is anxiously waiting for your response, watching you through his lashes as you try to process the onslaught of information you’ve just received. You’re utterly shocked. A whole slew of emotions are raging through your system — you don’t know whether you feel more angry, or upset, or grateful. It’s a real mixed bag, and your overworked mind is struggling to cope. You feel a lot better now that you know the truth, but the knowledge does hardly anything to dull the pain.

“You know how you don’t realise how much you need something until it’s gone?” Bucky asks timidly. His eyes flicker to yours to make sure that you’re listening. “That’s what it was like, losing you. I didn’t know that I was taking you for granted until I ripped us apart. I didn’t realise just  _how much_  I loved you until you were gone,”.

Bucky sits forward in his chair, brings both your hands up to his mouth and grazes his lips over your knuckles. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispers urgently, eyes glimmering with held-back tears, “I’ve never stopped loving you, sweetheart. And it’s okay if you don’t feel quite the same, I hurt you, I understand that, but—I never wanted to. I  _love_  you, sweetheart, you’re my everything,”.

> _If I keep my eyes closed, he looks just like you_

The expression you wear betrays none of the turmoil raging inside you. You’re silent as you appraise the situation. This man sitting in front you is not who you thought he was, but at the same time,  _is_. Ultimately, Bucky did what he thought he had to do to keep you safe, but can the end justify the means? You recognise that he had good intentions, but nevertheless, that doesn’t change the fact that he literally tore your heart out of your chest and stomped all over it. Was there really no other way to save you?

Your exhausted brain doesn’t know what to make of all this. The Bucky sitting in front of you looks like the Bucky you fell in love with — if a little rough and scruffy around the edges and gaunt from lack of sleep. But sometimes, when your mind plays tricks on you, you can’t help but see him in a different light. You see his lies for what they are — as well-intended as they may be — and you see the way he looked with Natasha tangled around him. You love him, but it’s not the same, and you don’t know if you can  _ever_  go back to loving him like that, not when you know too much. You want things to go back to the way they used to be, but know that that is not a possibility.

In a split-second, you know exactly what to do with yourself.

“Bucky, I love you too,” you say slowly. His face immediately brightens, his smile tugging at your heartstrings and making the hole in your chest ache with longing. “But I don’t know if it’s the same way I used to,”.

Bucky nods, and is about to open his mouth, but you stare him down, stopping his thought in its tracks. “You remember what I said in my letter? How all my relationships are the same? They end the same way—,”

“Yes, but doll—,”

“Let me finish,” you growl quietly, “Please,”.

Bucky bites his bottom lip and nods reluctantly.

“Before I can love anyone else, I need to learn to love myself,” you say, “I need to learn how to be whole on my own, without someone filling this—this chasm in my heart,”.

His brow furrows as he turns this piece of information over and over in his head. You forge on, “My heart—all it’s ever been is broken, or barely held together. I’ve—I’ve never given it time to heal, y’know? And maybe, once I’ve discovered what it means to be myself, without having to depend on other people, I’ll realise what I want. Maybe that’ll be you. That’d be nice. Or maybe, it won’t,”.

“So what’re you gonna do?” Bucky asks, not meeting your gaze.

“I’m gonna take a year for myself. Doing my work, travelling the world. No dating, no romances, just taking time for myself,” you say decisively, “And in a year, I’ll come back and reassess what I want,”.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Bucky murmurs, lifting his head so you can see the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

You shake your head, “I don’t want you to do that,”.

He opens his mouth to protest, but you put a hand up to stop him. “I might not come back to you,” you say, and your heart twinges with pain as you force your mouth to say those words. “I don’t know if I can come back to  _this_ ,” you say, gesturing with your hands in expressive circles, “Not just because I feel betrayed, but because…I don’t know if I can handle the stress of you going out on missions and not knowing if you’ll come back. All these secrets. The—I believe in second chances, Bucky, but I don’t know if I have anymore to give,”.

Bucky’s eyes are brimming with tears and his bottom lip is wobbling and it is taking  _every_  ounce of self-restraint inside you to stay strong. “I’m not saying never,” you whisper, taking his metal hand in both of yours, “I’m just saying…that I need time to heal, and I don’t want to leave you with the false hope that I’m coming back. Maybe I will, maybe I’ll just be your friend, or maybe…not,”, you finish.

“Please don’t go,” he pleads, tears leaving streaks of wetness down his cheeks, “Sweetheart, I—I  _need_  you,”. The anguished look on his face is steadily breaking down your walls.

Your own eyes are watering now, because  _goddammit_ , how is anyone supposed to hold it together when James Buchanan Barnes pulls his sad-puppy face on you? It’s always been your weakness, and now is no exception. “Love—,” you have to cut yourself off to wrench back a sob, “Bucky, I still love you. That’ll never change, but Buck, you gotta remember that I literally just broke up with Loki less than 12 hours ago. Don’t expect me to be jumping into anything anytime soon. In fact…I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to jump back in at all, my love,”.

Bucky is absolutely shattered by this revelation, you can see this so clearly. “Babydoll,  _please,_ ” he begs, “I—I’ll never find someone to replace you.  _No one_  can ever take your place in my heart, sweetheart—,”

“Bucky,” you say forcefully, perhaps a little more sharply than you intended, “You, of all people, know the value of being able to make your own choices. I ask you to respect mine. Let me make this decision for myself,”.

You can see that your words have hit him like a slap. Bucky jerks away looking absolutely crestfallen; you immediately want to take back what you’ve said, but know that it has achieved it’s goal. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, stroking your thumb over the back of his hand, “I love you. Don’t doubt that. I just need to love myself, before I can…move on to the next chapter of my life,”.

Bucky smiles, but it’s only a shadow of what his real one looks like. “I love you too, doll. Always. Take as much time as you need sweetheart,” he says. His voice sounds exhausted.

“Can I—can I hug you? Before I go?” you ask timidly.

He grins as if you’ve just told him that you’re about to hand him the sun, or something. “Of course, doll,” he murmurs, stretching his arms out to the side. You saunter over to the other side of the table, and arrange yourself across his lap as he wraps his muscular arms around you. You close your eyes and tuck your face into the side of his neck, inhaling his unique scent that reminds you of cuddles in a too-big bed and warm summer days spent in the compound gardens. You rake your fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck, silky soft like they used to be.

If you keep your eyes closed, you can imagine that the two of you are back in your room in the compound. You can pretend that none of these things ever happened, that the universe did not try to drive the two of you apart. Bucky feels like he always has; large and strong and powerful, and you take comfort and security in his embrace. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to have this again, so you cherish this moment, trying to memorise the curve of his body, the planes of his torso, the smell of his skin, the weight of his arms around your waist.

You don’t realise that you’re weeping quietly against his neck until he shushes you, hand stroking tenderly over your hair. “Shh, doll, it’s okay,” Bucky coos, but his voice sounds fragile, like he’s seconds from losing it himself, “It’ll all be okay,”. Bucky hooks his index finger under your chin and tips your head back, so you can look into each other’s eyes. A sad smile graces his plump lips as he uses his thumb to wipe away your tears. You note how his eyes linger on your lips for a heartbeat too long.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes, all the hope in the world held in his tone.

“Y-yeah,” you reply, voice equally as quiet.

Your heart sings with joy when Bucky presses his lips to yours. You feel  _complete_. This is what you want, what your body was made for, what your soul desires.

He keeps it completely chaste, content to just savour the pillowy softness of your lips against his. It’s tender, and gentle, and  _caring_  — everything that you’ve missed about him. You run your fingers over his face, trying to memorise the shape of his nose, the feel of his stubble against your fingertips, committing it all to memory. Before things can get too far, you both pull away, with no small amount of reluctance from either of you.

Bucky’s openly crying now, and you cup his jaw in both your hands, press a butterfly kiss to each cheek. “Take care of yourself for me, okay?” you whisper, trying to inject some humour in your voice.

He laughs mirthlessly. “Only if you promise to call, every now and then. If you ever wanna come to the compound, to see the rest of the gang, all you gotta do is ask,”.

“Deal,” you say softly.

A glance at the clock on the wall tells you it’s almost 8AM. The two of you have been sat here for almost three hours. Alarm bells in your brain remind you that you have to be at your office soon. “I—I gotta go, Bucky,” you say, with a wry smile, “I gotta go to my clinic to see a patient,”.

Bucky nods morosely, “Okay, doll,”.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble, poking him in the sternum. Bucky catches your hand and presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, a gesture so tender, so filled with  _reverence_ , that it’s a wonder you have any self-restraint left at all.

“Not as much as I’ll miss you,”, he quips, trying to muster up the cockiest smirk he can. There’s a little bit of sadness behind it, though. He can’t hide the sorrow in his eyes.

You have nothing to say in response. Everything has been said.

With great difficulty, you force your muscles to let go of Bucky and get up. He waves off your offer of paying for the food, claiming that it’s the least he can do for you. Bucky watches in silence as you stuff your phone back into your pocket and slip on your jacket. You move as slowly as you can, half-hoping that he’ll say something to make you change your mind, whilst at the same time knowing that he won’t. He promised to respect your wishes, and that is exactly what he’ll do.

“Bye, Bucky,” you murmur, giving him some weak version of a wave.

The corner of his lips twitches into a little smile. “Bye, Y/N,”.

When you get to the door, you turn around to get one last look at Bucky, you lover, your best friend, your…soulmate. It takes all your effort to ignore the fact that every single fibre of your being is  _shrieking_ at you, telling you to follow him back to the compound, take your place in this universe beside him. The rational side of you knows that you need time to find yourself and discover who you really are, but the part of your soul tied to Bucky’s is saying that you  _have_ found yourself, that the missing pieces are with him.

Perhaps sensing your internal dilemma, Bucky calls, “Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Break your trend, okay? For once in your life, I wanna see you winning at your game,” he tells you.

You smile, because you know that this is Bucky’s way of telling you that he trusts you to make the right decision for yourself. If you love someone, you do what’s best for them. If that means letting them go so they can do what it takes to win the game, then that’s what you do. That’s what Bucky’s doing.

“I will, my love,” you promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This is the end! *sobs uncontrollably* 
> 
> My first baby is finished! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. Any and all feedback is much appreciated :)


	10. The truth hurts, but secrets kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place exactly one year after the events in Chapter 9. I think we all secretly wanted this ending to happen? No? Just me? Okay, well, enjoy it anyway. Title from ‘Hopeless’ by Halsey.

_Today is a momentous day._

That thought has been running through your head on a continuous loop, like a song stuck on repeat.

You’re up to your eye-balls in work, but your concentration is broken when the door to your office creaks open and Maria steps in, a stack of folders in the crook of one arm, a mug of tea in her other hand. Leaning back in your chair, you stretch your arms over your head to work out the kinks in your shoulders.

“Dr Strange has just left. He asked for me to pass these to you,”Maria says, as she places the folders in front of you and sets the mug on your floral coaster. “Dr Cho is finishing in about five minutes,”. Her demeanour is brusque as always as she relays messages and updates from your colleagues.

It’s a scene that takes place at the end of everyday, something so routine that you know exactly how many steps Maria will take from the door to your desk. But today, something feels off, different.

Or maybe, that’s just you.

“Thanks, Maria,” you murmur absentmindedly, “I don’t need anything else from you today, so if Helen’s got nothing for you either, then you can clock off for the night,”. Maria nods curtly, then pivots on her heel and stalks out through your door.

How funny. You remember her executing that same move – with the same level of calculated precision, of course – a year ago.

You take a sip of your tea and marvel at how drastically your professional life has changed in the last year. Such changes are not just limited your work, obviously;  _every_  aspect of your life has undergone significant changes in the last few months, but you’re especially proud of the journey your professional life has taken. You’re no longer the person you used to be. Things have changed for the better, and you can’t help but note how starkly opposed your present- and past-selves are.

For one thing, you’ve taken on more responsibilities within your clinic. Your practice has come far in the last year, gaining recognition as an excellent rehabilitation resource for war veterans. Due to the influx of patients clamouring to see you, not to mention the variety of traumas they’ve experienced, you’ve been forced to employ more specialised personnel.

Your first hire was Dr Stephen Strange, an arrogant bastard who you’ve grudgingly come to accept as a colleague. On occasion, his cock-sure attitude, condescending way of talking and snide remarks still grate on your nerves, but he is, undoubtedly, gifted at his craft. Strange is a physical therapist, working with patients that have sustained traumatic physical injuries. He may not be the nicest of people to work with, but he  _is_  an excellent physiotherapist, so you’re willing to retain some semblance of professionalism around him.

Dr Helen Cho, by contrast, is far more likeable, and, though you wouldn’t exactly call her a friend, she is most definitely more than just a colleague; a true pleasure to be around. Helen runs a group therapy session once a day, aimed at veterans who are seeking help, but are not yet brave enough to see a doctor on their own. She is an expert in up-and-coming alternative treatments to PTSD, and absolutely skilled in her field of work.

With a sigh, you flip through the stack of folders, dreading the task of inputting these notes into your digital archives. Paperwork can wait until tomorrow, you decide. It’s not like you’re going to get anything done right now, anyway, not with the butterflies in your stomach fluttering around as restlessly as they currently are. You pack up your things, switch off the lights in your office, then wave cheery goodbye to Maria on your way out.

—————————

The train, as per usual, arrives five minutes late. Because you’ve left the clinic a little earlier than normal, you’ve managed to avoid the worst of the rush hour and — bonus — snagged a seat for yourself. It’s about a twenty minute ride back to your station, so you settle in, lean your head against the window and shut your eyes, hoping that maybe you can doze off for a bit.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, killing that dream.

**Nat:** _Barnes is going mad_

You smile to yourself, thumb hovering over the keyboard to type an answer when, not seconds later, another message comes through.

 **Steve:**   _Hope you’re coping better than he is_

Bucky must have worked himself into quite the state for both Nat  _and_ Steve to text you about it.

After tapping out a quick reply to them both, you turn your phone to silent mode, then slip it back into your pocket. Now that thoughts of Nat and Steve have cropped up in your head, it’s hard to shove them away.

You recall the day you went back to the compound for the first time. You were apprehensive — understandably so. Steve was the first person to greet you and he had taken it particularly bad. He’d been your first and closest friend out of the Avengers, so of course your leave would have had a severe impact on him. 

You just weren’t aware of  _how_ severe it would turn out to be.

Steve had practically thrown himself at your feet, wrapped his gangly arms around your legs and sobbed his heart out. He blubbered a thousand apologies as you clumsily stroked his hair, trying to get him to calm down. It was quite the shock to see the normally-composed Cap tear down his barriers so publicly, letting his vulnerabilities show. You’d been overwhelmed.

Tony, of course, had tried inject humour into the situation — you distinctly remember him calling Steve a ‘melting Capsicle’ — to no avail. Even Sam had looked pretty taken aback by Steve’s rare display of raw emotion. But, Steve’s breakdown encouraged everyone on the team to come clean with you, and apologies were said all around.

Later that day, you and Natasha had a long chat with each other. She apologised for her role in deceiving you, and you apologised for ever thinking about her in a negative light. Nat was also quick to assure you that Bucky had never done anything sexual with her whilst you were in a relationship with him.

The whole day had been surreal, to say the least.

It had been difficult, initially, trying to find your place within the group once you’d unearthed their big secret. Things had been awkward, conversations had been stilted, and for a while, it seemed as if there was no way you could ever regain the closeness that you once had. But, over time, you patched up the canvas that held you all together, weaving new threads of friendship, one memory at a time.

Though you keep in contact with the team, you make a point to not see them too often. You update them of new developments in your life, even join them for a movie night every now and then, but keep your distance besides that. These last twelve months have been a journey of self-discovery, a year for you to become a stronger, more in dependent woman.

Nat teasingly called it your year of self-love. The phrase has been truer in more ways than one; not being in a relationship means that you’ve had to get… _creative_  in taking care of your bodily needs.

One of the discoveries you made on this so-called ‘journey’ of yours is the wonderfully therapeutic act of baking. You’ve never been one to cook — let alone bake — before this, but when the hobby suggestion was given to you, you thought no harm in giving it a try. Since then, you’ve mastered an impressive array of delicacies, ranging from the humble chocolate chip cookie, to the far more extravagant mixed-berry pavlova.

Besides baking, you’ve also been making a conscious effort to take a break and relax. Your last proper holiday happened before you started working with the Avengers, so the trip you took with Jane and Darcy to Bali was well overdue. It had been nice, kicking back by the poolside or beach, drink in hand, until the sun’s rays became too hot and you had to retreat into the coolness of your villa. Entertainment was not hard to come by; an exuberant Frenchman by the name of Dernier was completely enamoured with Darcy, and you and Jane spent much of your time giggling over his efforts to ask her out on a date.

You’d also taken a spa trip with Wanda and Peggy — an all-expense-paid one, at that, courtesy of Tony Stark. It was his way of saying sorry to you. It had been a retreat filled with massages, classical music, and many an intriguing chat with the girls.

But beyond vacations and new hobbies, you’re also striving to remember to cut yourself some slack in your daily life. It’s all the little things, really, like getting a facial or manicure every now and then, going on shopping sprees with the girls, not heaping too much work onto your plate; minor lifestyle changes, that have all hugely improved your headspace.

—————————

The apartment is empty when you arrive, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. On the one hand, it means that you can get ready for tonight in peace. On the other hand, it means that you’ll be alone with your thoughts for longer, with no one to distract you. You head into your bedroom, strip off your clothes, dump them in the laundry hamper, then jump into the shower.

You’d long ago decided not to tell anyone what your final decision would be. In part, this was because you believed that you needed to have a talk with Bucky first, before announcing the final outcome to everyone else. Mostly though, you decided to keep your musings to yourself because you’re not supposed to even have  _thought_ about the situation until today.

But of course, with you being you, you couldn’t help but dwell on the future of your relationship with Bucky for the better part of the last month. A lot of deliberation has gone into planning your next step; you’ve had many a long-distance phone call with Jane, and several lengthy discussions with Wanda and Peggy. Even Steve weighed in on the subject, at one point.

The thing is, there’s a lot more to consider now. You have a history with Bucky and the rest of the team. You have a practice that you can’t abandon, not when it’s just starting to pick up; it’s been your dream to open a clinic of your own ever since you completed your doctorate.

So many arrangements had been devised and discarded, in your quest to come up with the perfect solution to fit your needs. Of course, you still need to talk to Bucky to figure out how  _his_ needs fit into the equation, but you’re at least comforted by the fact that you have a solid game plan to adhere to when you see him tonight.

You haven’t seen Bucky in over two months. The two of you have been meeting sporadically over the past year. Sometimes he’ll take you out for a meal, sometimes you’ll go to the compound just to say hi. You have a chat over the phone with him once a month or so, just to catch up on things. Though you’re not as close with him as you used to be, there has never been any tension or ill-feelings between you two. What you have with Bucky is something special; even if you’ve gone weeks without talking, you can pick up right where you left off, no awkwardness or fumbling around in the process.

Bucky has kept his promise, not pushing or pressuring you to make a decision before you were ready to make one. In fact, discussion of your future, whatever it may hold, hasn’t even cropped up in a conversation — that  _is_ after all, what tonight is all about. You’re glad that Bucky has stayed true to his word; you’ve needed the last year to find your footing in the world, and that would not have been possible if you’d been in a relationship.

—————————

After swathing yourself in an enormous fluffy towel, you pad over to your closet and start rifling through your clothes, trying to decide what to wear. You’re aiming for something that is the right balance of casual and fancy, without looking like you tried too—

Wait. Why are you getting so stressed out about this? It’s only Bucky. He’s seen you looking worse.

In the end, you opt for a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt with a dark grey sweater on top. When you catch your reflection in the mirror, you laugh, realising that this outfit is not dissimilar from the one you pulled on all those months ago. To make yourself look a tad more presentable, you decide to put on a little bit of makeup.

Jane calls you just as you’re adding the finishing touches.

“Y/N!” she chirps.

“Hey Jane, what’s up?” you answer, switching the phone to speaker-mode and setting it on top of your dresser so that you can apply your lipstick.

“Just calling to wish you good luck,” she sing-songs.

You chuckle. “Thanks, I think I’m gonna need it,”.

“Nervous?” Jane teases.

“A little,” you admit, “I know it’s just Bucky, but it’s…it’s  _Bucky_. It’s a big discussion we’re having and I—I don’t know if I’m making the right choice,”.

“Well, I’ll support you no matter what,” Jane assures you, “If it’s any consolation, I think you’re gonna do great, Y/N. You’re a stronger person than you were 365 days ago. I guess all those sessions with Dr Banner really paid off, huh?”

“Yeah, they really did,” you murmur.

After the events of the day which you and those closest to you simply refer to as R-Day (short for reveal day), you realised that perhaps talking to someone would be of benefit to you. An impartial third party, somebody who could give you an unbiased external opinion. When you resigned from your position as the Avengers’ private therapist, Dr Banner had been employed as your replacement. Pepper — somehow — found out that you were seeking psychological help for yourself and immediately referred you to him, even going as far as offering to take care of the bill.

That woman will never fail to astound you with her capacity for generosity.

Dr Banner had diagnosed you with situational depression, most likely as a result of  the traumatic events of you losing Bucky and the rest of your Avengers family. In hindsight, you, as a trained professional yourself, should have recognised the symptoms; that’s a fact that Peggy continues to give your grief over. You’ve had a few meetings with Dr Banner — nothing extensive, and certainly nothing as intense as the sessions you’ve been trained to deliver — but what talks you  _have_  had with him have certainly been helpful. You feel comforted, knowing that the team is in the hands of such a capable man.

“Helloooo? Earth to Y/N? Did you even hear what I just said?” Jane asks, snapping you out of your daze.

“Huh? What? No, I didn’t get it,” you mumble distractedly.

“I said don’t freak out, just say everything that’s on your chest and things will work out fine. If you’re meant to be together, it’s going to happen,” she repeats.

“Easy for you to say,” you grumble, “You’re not the one doing the talking,”.

Jane huffs out a laugh. “I have faith in you,” she says simply, “And I also have a feeling that Bucky will accept whatever decision you make,”.

“I sure hope so,” you sigh.

“Call me afterwards, okay?”

“You got it. Bye Jane,”.

After giving yourself a once-over in the mirror one final time, you grab your purse and step out of your bedroom. Wanda is in the kitchen, work clothes still on, fixing herself a sandwich. She glances up and gives you a smile, which then turns into a small frown when she sees your outfit.

“You’re going to see him?” she asks stiffly.

You nod. “I’m just about to leave,”.

When you told Wanda and Peggy about your night in the diner, suffice it to say, they didn’t immediately believe Bucky’s story. Unlike you, they were not previously in love with him and did not have your deep understanding of his character. They’d seen you after your breakup, when you were at the lowest point in your life, and the memories from that time had left them with a bitter opinion of him. Both felt that Bucky’s story was too far-fetched.

So, in an attempt to convince Wanda and Peggy that Bucky was sincere in his apology, you’d arranged for the three of them to have lunch together. According to Bucky, who called you afterwards, it had been an intense affair, with him getting absolutely  _grilled_ by your two closest friends. He hadn’t gone into much detail, but from the slight shakiness to his voice, you could tell that the encounter had terrified him. Bucky had vowed to never get on Peggy or Wanda’s bad side ever again.

Later, Peggy had come back to the apartment and proudly announced that she’d given Bucky a tremendously forceful slap. Typical.

But since then, Peggy has become more accepting of the idea of you and Bucky potentially getting back together. Wanda still has her reservations; she’s always been the more cautious and less trusting of the two.

Now, she steps around the kitchen island and walks over to you, eyes flicking up and down, giving you an appraising glance. “You look good,”, she says, rather abruptly.

“Uh…thanks?” you reply, somewhat taken aback by her bluntness.

Wanda graces you a tiny smile. “Good luck, Y/N. I think I know what your decision might be, and I know nothing I can say will change it, but just — be sure about it, okay?”

“I’m just doing what I think is best for me,”.

“Good,” she says, “That’s all I can ask for,”.

—————————

Scott’s diner is only twenty-five minutes away from your apartment on foot, so you decide to walk it, since you’re still a little bit early, anyway.

The nerves are kicking into high-gear now, butterflies putting on a circus show in your stomach. You’ve been impatiently anticipating this hour for the last week and been an emotional wreck most of that time. In all honesty, thoughts of this day have been hovering in the back of your mind for the past few months. You’re jittery, over-excited, but most of all, nervous — anxious to discover how Bucky will react to your decision. Wondering whether or not he will accept it.

You turn a corner and there in front of you, is Scott’s diner, looking as unimposing as ever. It’s fitting that you’re meeting Bucky here — it’s a place that has significant meaning to the both of you. What’s ironic is that though  _you_ as a person have developed so dramatically in the last year, this place has not. Scott has continued to save up for the extensive renovation plans he has in mind, but money is hard to come by, so he makes do with what he has.

Bucky is already there when you arrive, sitting at the same table you sat at a year ago, dressed in jeans and grey henley with a leather jacket on top. His expression brightens when you step into the diner.

“Y/N!” he calls, standing up to greet you, pulling you into a brief hug, “It’s so good to see you,”.

Scott’s new part-time waiter, Peter, dashes over to hand you your menu as you take your seat. 

“It’s great to see you too, Bucky,” you say, your lips quirking up into a gentle smile. He’s nervous, you can tell. Bucky’s hair looks like he’s raked his fingers through it a hundred times, several strands having already fallen out of his little man-bun. There’s an apprehensive flicker in his eyes.

Because today seems to be full of parallels from the past, you and Bucky opt for the exact same dishes that you got last time; him, the pancakes with a double helping of sausages, you, the chocolate chip pancakes and a strong coffee. Sure, pancakes are not exactly typical ‘dinner’ food, but then again, Vision’s pancakes are  _to die for_.

Once Peter’s taken your order and cleared the menus, Bucky chews his lip agitatedly, fretting over what to say. You decide to be the one to break the ice.

“At least we’re talking at a more reasonable hour, this time,” you joke, trying to get a laugh out of him.

It works — the corner of his mouth crooks up into a half-smirk. “Yeah, that’s true. Funny how this place hasn’t changed, right?” Bucky asks, glancing around the diner. It’s busier than it was the last time you were here with him, though two-thirds of the tables are still unoccupied.

“I know. It’s kinda strange being back here,” you say, smiling nervously at him.

“Yeah, I—I’ve thought a lot about today, doll, but I still…well, it’s up to you, isn’t it? This is about you and me talking about…us,” Bucky trails off, voice hesitant, betraying his nerves. You have a feeling that you’re not going to perform much better yourself.

“How’re we doing this?” you ask, “I’ve got…things I want to say—,”.

“So do I,” he interjects.

“—and it’s all planned out in my head and everything, so would you like me to start?”

“Ladies first,” Bucky says, shrugging like he doesn’t care.

You snort. “That’s your attitude to everything in life,” you mutter. Then, for good measure, you add, “Sex included,”.

Bucky’s eyes widen and he bursts out laughing, shoulders shaking with mirth. You can practically  _see_ the tension leaving his system, making him more relaxed as the seconds tick by. Your heart feels uplifted, seeing him like this. Bucky scrubs a hand over his eyes, sits up a little straighter and endeavours to look at you with a solemn expression on his face.

He almost succeeds.

One glance at your face, the way you’re barely holding in laughter yourself and he loses it again, chuckling uncontrollably. You giggle with him, mostly to dissipate your giddy nerves. “It feels so  _weird_ ,” you breathe, “I can’t believe we’re here, having this conversation,”.

Bucky shakes his head and clears his throat as his laughter dies down. “Go on, doll,” he urges, “What did you want to tell me?”. It’s apparent that the nerves are starting to creep back in, taunting the edges of his mind. He clasps his fingers together tightly, focusing on them, rather than you.

You take a deep, steadying breath. “Okay, well, first off, I’m going to ask you to do for me what I did for you,”.

“Which is?” he asks, arching an eyebrow inquisitively.

“To not interrupt me. This mini-speech of mine has been well-planned,” you say. 

“Shit, doll,” Bucky murmurs, “You weren’t kidding about this being a proper chat, eh?”

“Nope,” you reply, “So. Do you promise?”

“Yes,” he replies immediately.

At that exact moment, Peter comes dashing over, two plates of food balancing on one arm, a tray bearing two steaming mugs of coffee in the other. With some fumbling, he manages to set everything down on the table without spilling anything, mutters something that sounds suspiciously like  _sorry for being a klutz,_ then scampers off to the kitchen, where he is less likely to drop food into diners’ laps.

The kid’s done that to you before. More times than you’d like to admit.

With the momentary interruption over, you turn your attention back to Bucky, who is stoically cutting up his pancakes, resolutely keeping his gaze trained on his fork. 

You clear your throat. “Before I tell you what…what my decision is, I need you to know this,”. You pause, taking a deep breath to steel your nerves. In the silence, Bucky looks up, meeting your gaze with those unwavering, stunning eyes of his.

There’re no other eyes you’d rather look into. That’s where your home is.

“I still love you,” you blurt out.

His breathing hitches. Saying the words liftsan invisible burden from your shoulders; your chest feels lighter, somehow. You haven’t dared to say those words aloud, not even to yourself.

“Really?” Bucky asks tentatively, breathlessly, his eyes wide and wondrous.

“Yes, Bucky. Really,” you say, lightheaded and dizzy with excitement. “And I mean  _love_ love, not just ‘I care about you’ love. Romantic feelings,”. 

Bucky is overjoyed, though he’s fighting to not let the emotions show on his face. You can see the flicker of optimism in his eyes though, like he’s breathed an internal sigh of relief.

It pains you to have to say the next bit.

“Don’t get your hopes up, though,” you say softly. No sooner have the words left your mouth does his expression fall, despondent. “Wait, wait!” you cry, “You haven’t heard the full story. It ends well, I promise,”.

Bucky breathes out a shaky sigh, runs his flesh fingers through his already messy hair. “Okay, doll. Continue,”.

You’re silent for a minute, picking your next words with care as you chew on a mouthful of pancake. It’s strange to have to talk to him like this. The conversations you’ve shared over the last year have been carefree and easy, amiable, almost like old times. Being forced to articulate your thoughts in such a precise manner reminds you of the last time you were in this diner having a serious talk with Bucky.

“I want to try again,” you say finally. It’s a blunt statement, but simplicity is not to be underrated in times like these. “I want to be with you again. I’m…I’m in a much better headspace than I was a year ago. I’m—a better version of myself,” you force yourself to pause, to take another calming breath. The sliver of hope has returned to Bucky’s expression, softened his features and put the sparkle back into his eyes. It is his eyes that you focus on when you next speak. “But things are going to be different this time. They  _have_ to be different, if we’re gonna make this work out, Bucky,”.

He nods enthusiastically. “Yeah. In agreement with you on that one,”.

You chew your bottom lip, then blow out a gust of air in a quick whoosh. “Okay, well, for starters, never again.  _Never_  keep secrets from me again, I don’t care how big or small they are,  _never_  again,” you say firmly. Bucky winces at your unyielding tone, but you power on despite that, because this is the requirement that matters most to you. “I want to be in on your missions, and by that I mean I want to be in the loop. I understand that you have to keep things confidential for security reasons, but you can  _trust me_ , Bucky. Besides, if the mission is a big deal for you or me, I think I have a right to know,”.

Bucky shakes his head, a mildly amused smile playing on his plump lips. “I had a feeling you would say something like this,” he admits, “You drive a tough deal, Y/N,”.

“I know,” you reply, “But it’s that or nothing, love,”.

Something is still holding him back, making him unwilling to agree with your terms. You sigh heavily. “The thing is, Bucky,” you say, tone taking on a note of tenderness, “The truth hurts, sometimes. When I—found out…yeah. It hurt me. Hurt like a bitch—,”

“Sorry,” Bucky says automatically.

You smile, “It’s okay. But you’ve got to understand my point, Bucky; the truth hurts, but secrets  _kill_. What you and the rest of the team kept from me? It killed our relationship, my love. I’d rather not see the same thing happen a second time,”.

Bucky is nodding again, slower this time, like he’s deep in thought. “We’ll have to talk to the rest of the team about this,” he says hesitantly, “But I agree with you. Keeping you in the dark is not…it’s not a long term solution. Something needs to change,”.

Relief floods your veins. “You don’t need to worry about me blabbering,” you assure him, “One, that’s not in my nature and two, confidentiality is pretty much my entire life. Have you  _seen_  my poker face? My client face is to  _die_  for—,”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky laughs, holding a hand up to stop you, the corners of his eyes crinkling with fondness. “I believe you, doll. I get your point. I know you wouldn’t,”.

“Thank you,” you say crisply, “Now, two—,”.

“Oh, there’s more?” he teases

“There’s plenty more. Number two: My practice,”.

“Your clinic?” Bucky asks, cocking his head to the left.

“Yes. My clinic. It is…well, gaining a reputation for itself,” you admit, laughing weakly, a little shy but also proud to talk about this achievement of yours. “Truth be told, I love working there. I want to keep working there,”.

“Of course you—,”

“Which means that,” you say, raising your voice to talk over Bucky as your eyes narrow into a murderous glare, unimpressed by the interruption, “I might be back late. I might…need to bunk with Wanda and Peggy sometimes, to be closer to work. I’m not going to give up something I love just to be with you,”.

You’re reminded of a conversation you had with Jane just a few days after your break-up with Bucky. Her words echo loud and clear, despite the nervous cacophony inside your head.

_“Just because the path isn’t clear, or the road is an uphill struggle, doesn’t mean that it’s not feasible. If you love two things, you should be able to have them both,”._

Bucky sighs, smiles wearily. “I know how much it means to you. And, having something that’s yours, your clinic—it’d probably do you good when I’m away on missions and such,”. He hesitates, the reluctance evident in his expression. “Maybe…maybe we can find an alternative location? One that’s a little closer to the compound? I’m sure Tony wouldn’t mind pitching in if you need money for a new space,”.

“Pitching in? He’d probably buy the whole building,” you scoff.

“True,” Bucky concedes, eyes twinkling with the effort of suppressing his laughter. “So what d’you think? Is it a possibility?”

“I’d have to consult with my colleagues, and the move wouldn’t be immediate, but I am open to the idea,” you reply, giving him a smile to soothe his anxiousness.

“Oh good,” he murmurs. A moment of silence passes as the two of you take a few more bites out of your dinner.

“On…a similar train of thought,” you begin, glancing at Bucky through your lashes to make sure that he’s listening, “We come to my next point, which is that I am not returning to be your therapist. Or, well, the team’s therapist,”.

Confusion passes over his features, eyebrows knitting together for a moment, before relaxing again. “We never expected you to,” Bucky says, “You can either be someone’s friend, or their therapist, but you can’t play both roles,”.

You arch an eyebrow, bemused. “Did Sam tell you that?”

Bucky smiles wryly, “Dr Banner, actually. He’s a good doctor. I like him,”.

“I do too,”.

“Oh yeah,” Bucky says, face lighting up with curiosity, “You’ve been seeing him, haven’t you? How’s that going?”

“It’s confidential,” you reply, winking knowingly at him.

Bucky rolls his eyes in amusement. “That all? For number three, I mean,”.

“Yes. Just the fact that I’m not being your therapist anymore,” you reply, mentally dusting your hands off as yet another requirement gets ticked off your list. The next ones are harder, so you take a moment to brace yourself internally, collecting your thoughts before you plunge forward.

“Number four is…I want to start from the beginning again,” you tell him, intently watching Bucky’s face for any indication of his thoughts. “We can’t just jump straight into where we were, what we used to be. It’s been a year and a half, Bucky — you’ve changed,  _I’ve_ changed…so doing what we used to do might not work,”

“So what’re you suggesting?” Bucky asks, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back, narrowing his eyes in doubt.

“I’m suggesting that we start all over. I’m talking dates, flowers, chocolates, the whole she-bang,”.

“Wow,” Bucky mutters, eyebrows rising in surprise, “You want to be wooed, huh?”

“With your classic forties charm, sugar,” you quip, mimicking his Brooklyn drawl. The lightness of the moment quickly evaporates when you next speak. “It also means that…I don’t want to move into the compound, just yet. I’ll explain why in a bit, but…if we’re going to be dating, in order for it to be the most authentic it can be, I think us living apart, at least initially, would be good,”.

You can see how heavily your decision weighs on him. It’s not the outcome he would have liked, that much is apparent. Your heart twinges with sympathy and you yearn to wrap your arms around Bucky and kiss the pain away.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, your eyes downcast. It’s not enough; two words will  _never_  be enough to convey the full extent of the emotions you feel for him right now, but they are the only two words that come into your mind, the only phrase that even comes  _close_  to being adequate.

The corner of his lip twitches. “No. Don’t be,” Bucky says, “It’s—okay. I understand why you’d say that,”. He sighs, leaning back in his chair as he combs his fingers through his hair yet again. “I just—yeah. I know it’s selfish, but I was hoping you’d be ready to jump right back in,” he admits ruefully, “But I see your point. It’s…this is the rational thing to do,”.

“I’m…glad you see where I’m coming from,” you say, relief evident in your tone. This particular condition you knew would be hard for him to accept. In all honesty, you weren’t entirely sure if he  _would_  accept it. “I know it’s hard for you. But…what I have to say next is harder,”.

Bucky presses his gloved metal hand over his heart. “I have braced myself,” he says solemnly.

You smile, humoured despite the sombre situation. “Just because we’re getting back together, doesn’t mean…we’ll stay together — aww, no don’t give me that look!” you protest, as the corner of his mouth slip into a frown and a crease develops between his brows.

“Hear me out, okay? I  _love_  you,” you say, with all the conviction you can muster, “I really, really, do, with all my heart. I want to make this work, Bucky, but…me saying yes now, is not me saying ‘yes I’ll be with you forever’. Like I said, we’ve changed. It’s part of the reason why I’m not ready to move back into the compound. I want us to date for a bit, see if we’re still compatible and…take it from there,”.

A moment of silence passes. 

“You’re so sensible,” Bucky chuckles, finally. There’s a note wistfulness to his voice, as if he wishes that things didn’t have to be this way. “Again, yes, I see your point. I’m so glad it’s you doing this negotiation business, doll, I just would’a stuffed things up,”.

“So…you’re agreeing to it?”

“If that’s what it takes to make you stay, I’ll do it,” he agrees, as he reaches across the table to take your hand in his. “I’ll fuckin’ pluck the moon out of the skies if that’s what you asked me to do,”.

“Don’t give me ideas,” you mutter.

Bucky tips his head, an acknowledgement that he’s heard you, but makes no further comment for a while, just circles his thumb against your wrist, expression pinched — you can only imagine what thoughts are flying through his head right now.

This is really happening, you realise. The reality of the situation is finally sinking in. This is the moment you’ve been building yourself up to. Though you’ve doubted yourself and questioned your decisions in the last few months, you know that you won’t have any regrets about this. You’re surprised by how content your are, how at peace you’re feeling. 

This feels right. 

This is the right decision. You’ve had your moment of doubt, but talking to Bucky has cleared the skies, blown away the dark, mysterious storm clouds hanging over your head like a bad omen.

There has been nothing you’ve felt more sure about in your entire life. This man — this gorgeous, stunning, kind-hearted soul — sitting in front of you is the person you want to be with.

He’s the person you’re  _meant_  to be with.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers. “Thank you for coming back. I—I’ll do everything I can and  _more_  to keep you this time, okay? Remember what I said? I want you to win this game, for once in your life,”.

“Oh darling,” you breathe, “I already have,”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share this chapter on [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/167779397985/i-know-this-game-ten/)


	11. Hold me down (forever)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve won the ultimate prize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and some of the dialogue was inspired by Halsey’s ‘Now or Never’. If you go over to the version of this post that's on Tumblr, you can also check out some lovely visual inspiration :)
> 
> This is the ‘end’ end of my first-ever foray into the world of Bucky Barnes fanfiction. IKTG is how I met many of you lovely people — and y’all know who you are — so for that, this fic will always hold a special place in my heart. Thanks for sticking around with me, my darlings, you’re the best. I dedicate this final chapter to you 
> 
> side note: props to you if you get where the ending line comes from ;)

To say that you’re nervous right now would be more than a little bit of an understatement.

When Bucky asked you if you were nervous earlier this morning, you’d told him that you weren’t — and to some extent, that statement still holds true. You’re not nervous. 

Well. You are a  _little bit_  nervous. It’s complicated.

You’re not nervous about the fact that in about fifteen minute’s time, you’ll finally be able to call Bucky your  _husband_  and know that there is nothing, no force in this entire universe strong enough to keep the two of you apart from each other.

You  _are_  nervous about having to walk down the aisle and say your vows in front of all those people, though. Sure, ‘all those people’ literally means no one besides your family and your closest friends, but still. The thought of having to say something momentous and profound in front of them is rather nerve-wracking. You want to  _be_ married to Bucky, of this you have no doubt; you just don’t know if you’re ready to  _get_ married to Bucky, right now.

Why did you turn down the idea of eloping, again?

It is at this point that the door to your dressing room opens and Jane steps inside. She looks wonderful, swathed in a tea-length burgundy tulle dress with her hair pulled back into an elegant bun.

“Hey there, sis,” she murmurs, coming to sit beside you on the couch. “How’re you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Like—I do kinda wish mum and dad were here.”

“Yeah,” Jane sighs, “Takes  _dedication to work_  to a whole new level, huh?”

You shrug. “At least we’re used to it,” you mutter.

Your parents are currently somewhere in the depths of the Congo rainforest, tracking down some rare species of beetle previously thought to be extinct. Because their funding is due to run out in about a month’s time, they’d had no choice but to go now. Sure, it would’ve been nice to have them around for your big day, but you’re not particularly close with them, anyway. Their absence is not that big of an issue for you.

“But  _you’re_  okay?” Jane prompts, nudging you with her elbow.

You release a heavy sigh as you nod your head. “Yeah…besides that…I just wanna get this over with,” you say, turning to flash her a tired smile. “Don’t get me wrong — I’m happy and excited, and all of that good stuff, but—,”

“You just wanna skip to the part where you’re Mr and Mrs Barnes, huh?” Jane finishes, chuckling as you nod your head fervently. “Well, in that case, are you about ready to get out there and get married?”

“No,” you say sharply, a sudden rush of panic bubbling up your throat. “Janie, I feel like m’gonna be sick,”.

“Y/N,” Jane sighs, taking both of your hands and pulling you to your feet, ignoring your weak protests. “Everyone says that. What’s gonna go wrong, huh? You love Bucky, Bucky loves you, and both of you wanna get married to each other. Where is the issue in all of this?” As she speaks, Jane reaches up to straighten the delicate lace headband in your hair.

“Jane I…I don’t know, okay?” you huff frustratedly. Jane snorts, grabs your hand and leads you out of the room.

“Are you ready for this?” she asks, turning to look at you over her shoulder. Jane’s voice is firmer this time.

“I don’t know!” you squeak, allowing yourself to be dragged out of the room and down the corridor, “I just—I’m allowed to be nervous, okay? I’m the bride. It’s  _my_ day,”.

You can practically  _hear_ Jane rolling her eyes in amusement. It’s possible that she says some choice words under her breath. The two of you walk in silence until you get to the double doors at the end of the corridor. Once there, Jane stops, turns around and puts her hands on your shoulders, levelling you with a stern, but loving, gaze.

“Sis, trust me. Everything’s gonna work out. You just need to _relax_ and enjoy yourself, okay? I’m not gonna sit here and lecture you about love and your future with Bucky — I’m probably the  _least_ qualified person around to do that — but what I  _do_ know is that you’ve been through hell and found each other again. Now, I don’t believe in fate, but something tells me that the universe  _clearly_ wants you two to be together. So, we’re gonna get out there, you’re gonna walk down the aisle like you own it, and then you’re gonna make him your husband, you get me?”

“Jane,” you breathe, stunned by her sudden outburst of emotion. “I—,” instead of finishing your sentence, you throw your arms over her shoulders and squeeze her in a suffocatingly-tight hug. 

“Love you. Thank you,” you whisper fiercely.

“Okay, okay,” Jane laughs, patting your shoulder awkwardly. “You ready now? Wanna do this?”

You step back, shake out your hair snd roll your shoulders. Jane snorts at your dramatics, but bends down to fluff out the skirt of your dress nonetheless. “You look gorgeous,” she murmurs adoringly, flashing you one last smile before taking your hand and looping it around her elbow. 

Perhaps it is a tad bit unconventional to be given away by your little sister, but then again, ‘conventional’ is a word with little meaning to you, nowadays.

The two of you wait in front of the door for what feels like an eternity, before you finally hear the opening bars of the hauntingly beautiful piano melody that you’ve chosen as your procession song. It’s a piece with a name you can’t pronounce, written by some obscure Russian composer — Nat had suggested it to you and you’d fallen in love with it the moment you heard the first notes.

Right on cue, the doors swing open with a dramatic flourish. 

After sparing one last glance at each other, you and Jane step out onto the rooftop. You’d come out here earlier this afternoon to see how the set-up was getting on, but at that point, most of the decor had only been half-finished.

Now, your eyes widen in wonder as you take in the beauty of the setting. Fairy-lights and lanterns are strung over the aisle in a sort of ethereal canopy, flickering and twinkling merrily above everyone’s head. In the distance, the setting sun paints the sky in a burnished orange hue, its glowering rays bathing the entire rooftop in a soft, warm glow. Red and blue — the colours of your wedding — decorations complete the scene.

The next few seconds past by in a blur. You dimly register Jane taking a step forward and prompting you to follow her lead. You feel like you’re in a daze. Your eyes roam over the assembled crowd. It’s small; only your family members, your closest friends, plus a few colleagues dotted here and there. Everyone is smiling, and a lot of people already have tears in their eyes. You make eye-contact with a beaming Pepper, who’s looking gorgeous in her pale pink shift dress, one hand resting protectively over her baby bump. You owe so much to her — not least because you have a strong suspicion that she had a large hand in vetoing a lot of Tony’s more extravagant ideas.

You spot Nat, Wanda and Peggy to the left of the flower archway at the end of the aisle; your three best friends decked out in red dresses, each one in a slightly different style to accentuate their best features. Sam is standing underneath the archway, hands crossed in front of him, smiling at you like he’s the world’s proudest dad. Steve looks like he’s barely holding himself together. When his best friend had asked Steve to be his best man, Steve — in true Steve fashion — had said yes with tears brimming in his eyes.

And then, your eyes land on him.

Time slows right the way down.

Bucky looks fucking spectacular. His hair is groomed back into a neat man-bun, emphasising a stunning jawline which is covered in the faintest dusting of stubble. His navy blue suit fits him like a goddamns glove, the deep colour perfectly complimenting his complexion. As much as you like him in the suit, you also can’t wait to get him out of it.

You find yourself wishing that the aisle was shorter.

Bucky’s grinning from ear to ear, practically bouncing on his feet with excitement. In the blink of an eye, you find yourself standing in front of him, taking his hand in yours and waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Sam waits for everyone to settle back into their seats before clearing his throat and beginning. 

“Now, I know that Y/N and Bucky have prepared their own vows,” he starts, “And I’m willing to bet that they’re dying to get this show on the road, but first, I’ve got a couple of things I’d like to say,”.

He pauses, looking between the two of you with fondness in his eyes. “I don’t pretend like I know everything about love and relationships. But, I’ve seen people get in them, I’ve seen people fall out of them and I’ve seen all manner of strange arrangements in between. And from all of this—well, I’ve made a few observations. I’d like to share one of them with you today, if I may,”.

Sam raises both hands and gestures towards you and Bucky, as he addresses the crowd. “If you’ve seen these two together, you’ll know that this here?  _This_  is love. All love. Right here. Bucky and Y/N have been through hell on this earth — for Bucky, I mean  _literal_ hell — but they found each other, and most importantly, found safety and happiness  _with_  each other. And y’all?  _That_  is what love is. That’s what’s important when two people get married — the love they have for each other, that undying, unyielding force. I know these two love each other more than any one of us can hope to understand, and that they respect each other and want to keep each other happy, so…yeah,”. 

Sam nods his head as his voice trails off, pleased with the way his little spiel turned out. He’s somehow completely oblivious to the fact that he’s just left you completely speechless.

“Now,” Sam says brusquely, clapping his hands together. “Your vows?”

You and Bucky catch each other’s gaze and burst out into hysterical laughter. “I don’t know if I can follow up from that, Sam,” you chuckle.

“Yeah, you kinda set the bar high there, Wilson,” Bucky adds.

You shake your head in amusement as you turn to face your husband-to-be. 

You’re a complicated mess of emotions right now. Tears are threatening to spill from the corners of your eyes, your pulse is roaring in your ears and you feel like you’re about to projectile vomit the cereal you had for breakfast at any second. In your peripheral vision, you can make out the silhouettes of your closest friends and family, all gathered here to celebrate one of the most momentous days of your life. All eyes might be on you right now, but you only have eyes for one person.

Bucky Barnes, the love of your life. The man who will officially become your husband, in just a few short minutes.

 _If_ you can get through this ceremony, that is.

Noticing your hesitation, Bucky reaches out and takes hold of your other hand, squeezing it reassuringly. You take a deep breath, slowly count to three in your head, before opening your mouth to recite the words that you’ve written, scratched-out and re-written countless times in the last month.

“Bucky—,” your voice comes out shaky and a little croaky, so you clear your throat noisily before trying again. “Sweetheart, I never thought this day would get here. And…now that it’s here…I kind of feel like I need to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. I know you don’t like thinking about…the past, but sweetheart, we’ve been through it all. We’ve…we’ve been through really tough patches, and really good patches, and that’s probably how it’s gonna be for the rest of the time we have together,”

Bucky chuckles softly, nodding his head in agreement.

You pause to take another deep breath. “I just…I just want you to know that I’ll be your biggest cheerleader, your solid rock, your shoulder to cry on, your best friend—your  _home_  to come back to. I promise to support you and all the choices you make, believe in your dreams and most of all, love you unconditionally,”.

A fat tear rolls down Bucky’s cheek. You’re pretty sure you’re not faring off much better yourself but you forge on, nonetheless.

“I know it’s taken us a while to get here, and I  _am_  glad that we are where we are, but at the same time—I wish we’d done it sooner. You’re  _it_  for me, sweetheart. No one else gets me the way you get me. Not a day passes by without me thinking just how goddamn lucky I am to have you in my life. You make me happy.  _So_ happy, just—in general,” you chuckle wetly.

“My point is, well—I want you to love me now, forever, and always, because that’s the only way you’re gonna be able to keep up with me, darlin’, with the amount of love I got for you. I wanna hold you down, wanna keep you around forever, because there’s no one else I can see myself spending forever with, sweetheart. I love you, and I’m gonna keep on loving you for as long as we have together, and maybe a little bit beyond that, too,”.

Practically everyone at the ceremony is openly bawling now. Bucky brings both of your hands to his mouth and gently grazes his lips over your knuckles; tenderness, vulnerability and raw, unbidden love are all apparent in his expression. “I’m gonna keep on loving you too,” he vows quietly, flashing you a watery smile.

Bucky straightens up and clears his throat. “Wow,” he says, “You done good, sweetheart. Remember I said something about you being a writer if the whole clinic thing doesn’t work out, once upon a time?  _This_ is exactly why,”. 

A titter of laugh ripples through the crowd. Bucky shakes his head fondly, squares his shoulders, then locks eyes with you, looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane.

“Y/N—,” and that’s as far as he gets before his voice gets all choked up. Bucky tips his head forward to rest his forehead against yours. You rub small circles on the back of his hand with your thumb in an attempt to soothe him. He takes another, shakier breath, then tries again.

“Y/N, first off, I’d like to say this: you little  _shit_ ,”.

A startled laugh bubbles out of your throat.

“How the fuck am I supposed to follow up to  _that_ masterpiece? Why did I agree to go second? Why did we even want to write our own vows in the first place? Hindsight is a fucking son-of-a-bitch, man,” Bucky huffs. You giggle weakly in agreement, as the audience erupts into uproarious laughter.

“I have a confession to make,” Bucky admits, as everyone attempts to compose themselves. “I don’t actually have a speech prepared,”. At your arched eyebrow, he elaborates, “Winging it is more my thing, anyway. I—yeah, sure, I’ve been  _trying_ to write a speech, but I don’t have one because…well…I didn’t know what to say. Not—not because I don’t have  _anything_ to say, but because I have so  _much_  I wanna say. Sweetheart, there’re so many crazy good things about you, I didn’t even know where to begin. So many reasons why I love you, why you’re the greatest person I’ve ever met, why you’re the only girl I wanna spend the rest of my life with — there are so many reasons why I wanna stay with you. Forever,”.

Bucky takes a deep breath and squeezes your hand a little tighter, like he needs to ground himself. “I never knew how much I needed you in my life until…until you weren’t in it. I know we both hated those six months, but—well, now I know I need you ‘round with me,” he huffs.

“Yeah, it’s like you said. You’ve been through the ups and the downs with me. You’ve—god, you’ve done so much for me, stuff you probably don’t even know you’re doing. I’m so fucking happy that this day’s here because now…now I know that you’re mine. Forever,”

“Always gonna be yours, Buck,” you breathe.

Bucky laughs breathlessly. “I love you, sweetheart. That’s…that’s kinda why we’re here, right? Don’t you worry about me having problems keeping up with you, sweetheart—,”

“Super serum takes care of a lot,” you hear Nat mutter behind you.

“—I got a whole lot of love and I…I want to be able to love you for the rest of my life, Y/N. I want to always be there for you, the way you’re always there for me. I mean sure, sometimes you’re the pain in my ass, or the chip in my shoulder, but the point is, I never want to be apart from you, ‘cause I can’t get enough of you as it is,”. The audience erupts into a chorus of tearful ‘awws’ at that.

“I promise to make sure that you know that I love you, every second of every day. I’ll say those three words until you’re sick of them,”.

“That’ll never happen,” you swear, twisting one hand free of Bucky’s grip so you can brush away the tears staining your cheek. The corner of Bucky’s lips twitch up into a smile. 

“Even when we’re mad, or upset, or on opposite sides of the world…we’re gonna make it work. Because you’re  _worth it_ , sweetheart. I love you, I love our life, and I’m gonna try my damn hardest to make every day that we spend together a million times better than the day before. So…marry me already, will ya?”

The rings are exchanged. It’s possible that Sam says something along the lines of “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” but in all honesty, your brain has blocked out all other stimuli, in favour of focusing solely on Bucky. He winks impishly, then wraps his arms around your waist and leans in close, brushing his lips against yours. Distantly, you register the audience bursting into joyful applause, but nothing else matters, nothing else exists besides you and Bucky and the little bubble you’ve created for yourselves.

You and Bucky remain intertwined until Sam obnoxiously clears his throat, looking like he’s trying hard to hold in his laughter.

“Save it for the honeymoon suite, guys,” Steve mutters fondly.

———————————

The rest of the evening passes by in a series of flashes — snapshots of wonderful, intimate and at times, downright hilarious moments. You’re giddy with excitement, floating in Bucky’s arms as he spins you around the dance floor. Like a butterfly in a flowering meadow, you’re fluttering between conversations, trying to make sure that you’ve said hi to everyone that’s turned up. The white-gold wedding band on your finger is a foreign, but strangely comforting weight.

There’s plenty of laughter, a whole lot of alcohol-drinking, and Steve surprises exactly no one when he starts choking up in the middle of his best-man speech. It’s quite endearing, actually.  

Everyone whoops and hollers when Bucky enthusiastically scoops you into his arms and whisks you off to the honeymoon suite. You throw your arms around his neck and pepper soft kisses along his jawline as he scampers towards the lift like an excited puppy. Once he’s stepped into the lift, you find yourself trapped between the wall and Bucky’s warm body, his lips passionately locked onto yours.

“I know the rings don’t really make anything different between you and me,” says Bucky in between kisses, his eyes sparkling with exhilaration, the corners crinkling with excitement. “But sweetheart, I sure am glad you said yes,”.

You’re silent for a minute, looking at him adoringly as you catch your bottom lip between your teeth. Bucky cocks his head to the side in curiosity as his flesh hand comes up to cup your jaw. 

“What is it, darling?” he whispers, stroking his thumb back and forth over your shin. You tip your head to the side, pressing into the comforting touch.

“Nothing,” you murmur, “I’m just the luckiest girl in the world. You know why?”

Bucky arches one eyebrow as if to say  _what?_

“Because I’ve finally finally won the game,” you husk, curling your fingers into the lapels of his jacket and drawing him close. Bucky’s dark, musky scent enshrouds you, making you feel safe and loved and turned on, all at the same time. “And not only did I win this game, I hit the  _jackpot_ , baby. I got the ultimate prize,”.

“Oh sweetheart,” Bucky croons, hooking his finger under your chin and tipping your head back so that he can gaze into your eyes. “ _I’m_  the lucky one here. What’d I ever do to land a girl like you, huh?”

Your smirk at that. “Yeah? Well, either way, I want my trophy,” you breathe, looping your arms around his neck as you press a coy kiss to the corner of his lips. “Gimme that gold,”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share this post on [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/167779399640/i-know-this-game-eleven/)
> 
> And, if you're interested, [here's](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/167371135535/i-know-this-game-masterlist/) the series masterlist on tumblr too.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to share this story on tumblr, then [here's](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/167371135535/i-know-this-game-masterlist) a link!


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